


Why should I change?

by SarahNoel



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU where merlin rescues morgana and aithusa from the pit, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, T for swearing and... trauma?, a little bit domestic au??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-17 21:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21750202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahNoel/pseuds/SarahNoel
Summary: Time is roughly measured by how frequently we are shouted at, but even that is not consistent, so I do not know what day or night it is when Emrys finally comes.“Aithusa,” I hear. It is a name that only Morgana has said to me. Curled around her, I look upwards. A man’s face peers through the grate. He has a white beard.Merlin, disguised as an old man, rescues Morgana and Aithusa from captivity.
Relationships: Aithusa & Merlin (Merlin), Aithusa & Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Morgana (Merlin)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 279





	1. Escape

**Author's Note:**

> Suddenly remembered how mad I was that no one thought to save Morgana from that pit and befriend her! Especially when there's a dragon at stake!  
> Anyway re-watching the series was giving me a lot of feels so I didn't get totally caught up to this point before I started writing. So, I apologize if there are glaring inaccuracies or if anyone's a bit ooc. Hope you enjoy it anyway! It's an AU!

The Pit is dark, and cold, but the cold bothers Morgana more than it bothers me. What’s starting to bother me is the smallness of the pit. If I stand on my hind legs I am only as tall as Morgana, but I can no longer stretch out my wings. This worries her, when she has strength to be worried. She has no color left in her eyes, her face. All is black and gray, and she whispers to me distant memories of forests and castles. We are in a castle, I think.

But there is no escaping this castle, this dungeon, this Pit. It is becoming my whole world. Sometimes men jeer at us, yelling terrible words that Morgana repeats under her breath back at them, her lips drawn back in a snarl. They throw down rotten food, and we weep together for hunger. We cannot seem to die. And I will not let us die, because I remember the skies. It was not for this that I saved her life, I repeat to myself. We will find a way out. Morgana will dream us a way out. And I will keep her alive.

Time is roughly measured by how frequently we are shouted at, but even that is not consistent, so I do not know what day or night it is when Emrys finally comes. It is during one of Morgana’s fitful sleep cycles.

“Aithusa,” I hear. It is a name that only Morgana has said to me. Curled around her, I look upwards. A man’s face peers through the grate. He has a white beard. I hesitate. I do not want to wake Morgana. 

“I’m going to get you out,” he whispers, and I realize then that he is not speaking in a human tongue, exactly. It’s a language that I understand deep in my heart. I stir, and Morgana begins to wake. 

“Thuse?” she mutters as I disentangle myself from her. She follows my gaze and clambers to her feet.

“Emrys?” she says quietly, incredulous.

“Morgana,” he replies. He’s fiddling with something above, and with a quiet scrape of metal against metal, he unlocks a padlock and opens the grate. It creaks, and he glances away from us, but seems satisfied, and he sets it down gently. 

Leave the Pit. We’re going to leave the Pit. Excitement sends a shiver of energy up my spine, and I stand on my hind legs, scrabbling to find purchase on the stone.

“Stay quiet,” Emrys whispers, “I’ll help you float out.” 

I hold my breath as my feet and tail leave the floor. Emrys is guiding me up into the air, his eyes glowing. I land next to him and peer down, anxious for Morgana to get out.

Emrys hesitates. He’s wearing an expression of worry, maybe fear. Morgana is making the same face back at him. But then he stretches out his hand, his eyes glow, and Morgana floats out, too. They lock hands for a brief moment as Morgana lands unsteadily on her feet.

She snatches her hand out of his. “I thought we were enemies,” she whispers harshly. Her eyes race around the room.

I look around, too. We’re in something like a cold stone amphitheater, no windows. The only light is from the occasional torch placed in sconces around the perimeter. There’s a stairway leading upward, and a few guards dead or asleep at the base of it.

“I don’t want us to be enemies,” Emrys replies. “We’re both on the side of magic.” He looks at me. “I couldn’t stand by, knowing the two of you were locked away.” He hands her a thick hide coat.

Morgana’s jaw clenches, her gaze lowers to the ground. She takes the coat and shrugs it on.

Emrys smiles and jerks his head. “Come on. Sneaking back out won’t be easy.”

We creep through the castle nearly silently, pausing often to catch our breaths. Morgana and I are weak, and Emrys seems to be as well. His back is hunched, which brings his eye level down to Morgana’s, and he has a slight swaying, hobbling gait. But he seems to have a sense for our path, and for whoever roams the halls in the dead of night. Morgana gathers me close to her when we rest, her frame trembling from either fright or cold.

Finally, we come through a long dark corridor to a padlocked, rusted door. Emrys whispers an incantation, and the chains break and the door blows open. The wind howls through, bring freezing snow with it.

Emrys turns back to us. “The storm is still going,” he says.

“Aithusa and I won’t make it,” Morgana cries, “we’re too weak.”

He grabs her shoulder. “You will make it,” he says, “If I have to carry you both myself.” 

He turns and strides out into the storm. I stick close to Morgana’s side as we follow, and Emrys gestures to the door--it closes with a bang behind us.

He nearly disappears in the swirling snow, but cuts a path for us that we follow. Morgana stumbles against the wind, her black hair whipping around.

Finally, we reach a line of trees, and the wind drops but doesn’t die. Now we can hear the clamor of bells in the air.

“They know we’ve escaped,” Morgana says under her breath.

“S-stay here,” Emrys says, and walks back a few paces. He holds out his hands and says something I can’t quite recognize, stands there for a few moments, and comes back to us. “Keep moving,” he says gruffly, and we let the forest swallow us.

The air around us begins to lighten before Emrys finally calls for a stop. Morgana leans heavily against a tree, and he ignores her and grumbles to himself, squinting through the trees.

“Are we... lost?” Morgana gasps out.

“No, no--here we are.” He wades through the snow, plunges his hand into the base of a hill, and lifts up. Snow shifts off of what seems to be a sort of canvas, and Emrys waves at us. “Come on, get in!”

Morgana collapses, and I hesitate. My legs tremble from exhaustion.

“I’ll get her,” Emrys snaps, “Get inside.”

I slither in. In the center of the small space sits a gently glowing orange stone, which gives off heat. The room is warm, and the floor is padded with pine boughs. We seem to be bivouacked against a hill. It’s barely big enough for the three of us, especially with the bundles of cloth in the corner. I press myself against the cloth wall as Emrys re-emerges, dragging Morgana. He practically tosses her into the room.

“I need to cover our tracks,” he says, “I’ll be back.” And with a gust of cold air, he’s gone.

Unsteadily, I do my best to use some of the cloths to get Morgana more comfortable, and move her closer to the warming stone.

Emrys crawls back in, panting. “Ah. Well done, Aithusa. We need to make sure she doesn’t have frostbite. Can you get her shoes off?”

Her shoes are partially frozen. I can’t get them off. He hurries over and presses the warming stone against them until they can come off. Her feet don’t look quite right--purple, in some places black.

He hisses. “Damn. Let’s see, what was that spell…?” He hands me the warming stone. “Hold that against her hands, I need to try a few things.”

I am then able to rest a bit as he holds Morgana’s feet, and I hold her hands. He whispers strings of incantations. Morgana’s breathing steadies as she’s slowly warmed up, and color begins to return to her cheeks, though she’s still so pale in the dim light of the glow of the warming stone. Additional pale daylight ekes in sideways through a hole in the side of the tent, providing air to us.

“Ah. There we go.” Emrys finally sets her feet down, hands visibly shaking. “She’s out of danger.” He crawls over to the mussed up stack of cloths, and pulls out a canteen and a hunk of whitish food. “Eat this, drink some water, and leave the canteen by her head in case she wakes up soon. I need… Sarrum’s men won’t find us, we’re very well hidden. I need to rest, and then we can think about real food.” He waits a beat, looking at me. “You should rest, too,” he says pointedly, and I obediently curl up beside Morgana. The food is cheese, but noticeably fresher than cheese I’ve had in the past, and it’s soft enough that it doesn’t hurt to chew.

Sarrum’s men won’t find us. That has to mean we won’t be back to the Pit. And Morgana’s out of danger. We’re not going to die. We’re going to live. I repeat these things to myself as sleep takes me.

I wake up to the sound of unfamiliar snoring. Morgana is sitting up, her back turned to me. She is watching Emrys, or the warming stone. Emrys lies on his back, puffs of breath stir his white moustache. I nudge Morgana’s arm.

She turns and looks at me. Her eyes are a little glazed over, and I gingerly pick up the canteen in my mouth and put it in her hands. She drinks automatically, coughs, and strokes my head.

“You alright, love?” she says softly.

I nod, and then jerk my chin at her.

“Me too. Just a bit sore.” she draws her knees up to her chest, and her healed bare feet poke out of the bottom of her dress. 

We gaze into each other’s eyes, and I can see she’s afraid as usual, but there’s a glimmer of hope there. Perhaps a fear of the unknown. 

“I’m going to protect you,” she says. She used to say this often, but it’s a phrase that I haven’t heard for a while.

I hand her some cheese.

She smiles.

Emrys wakes up a short time later, and barely glances at us before he starts rummaging through his rucksack. 

“Food,” he mutters, and hands Morgana bread and cheese, cheese for me, bread and cheese for him.

“Aithusa will eat anything,” Morgana says cautiously.

“Gonna boil some jerky for him so he can chew it easily,” Emrys says, and gets out a small cauldron, throws a few brown bits in it, and mutters an incantation over it. The room is instantly filled with the smell of cooked and seasoned meat, plus a blast of warmth. 

He scoops the meat into a shallow bowl for me and puts it in front of me. It’s delicious, and soft enough for my aching teeth to get a hold of.

“I assume you two didn’t eat much? You look to be skin and bones.” He’s finally looking at Morgana, but his expression is guarded.

“That’s right,” she says, looking at him evenly.

“We need to get some meat on your bones, but can’t do it all at once, otherwise you’ll both be sick.”

“Why are you doing this, Emrys?”

“Honestly?” he leans forward a bit. “I’m hoping to make an ally of you, Morgana. Maybe a friend’s too much to hope for, after all we’ve been through. But that would be nice, as well, wouldn’t it?” he smiles.

She doesn’t smile back. “So, you want to use us. For what?”

“Camelot.”

Her eyebrows raise, and I see an interested gleam in her eyes. The meat is gone, and my stomach is uncomfortably full.

“That is,” he continues, “I want to spread the peace of Camelot throughout the known world. But we’ll never be able to achieve peace if King Arthur continues to fight against magic. He needs magical allies, powerful ones. He needs us.” He gestures at me as well, and I raise my head and exchange a look with Morgana.

Morgana reaches out and runs a hand down my neck. “You’ve done us… an incredible favor. I owe you a debt,” she says. “And I appreciate your candor. But,” her lips curl back, “I hate Arthur. You know this. I cannot change how I feel, and I will not help you, or him, spread the persecution of Camelot.”

“Camelot’s changing,” Emrys says, heat coming into his voice, “We can help that change. I know we can.”

“Arthur would kill us on sight,” Morgana spits. “He’s like his father in that way. You can’t undo all the wrongs that have been done against him. He’ll never trust us.”

“Or, you’ll never trust him?”

Morgana goes still, gazing over my head. “No. I won’t.”

Emrys sighs, and is silent for a long moment. “Very well. I… may yet be forced to kill you, Morgana, in order to defend my King. But,” he holds up a hand as Morgana starts to speak, “That is a future that I hope with all my heart does not come to pass. And to start to undo some of the wrongs that have been made against you, I want to help you. Will you let me, at least, let’s say, for a year?”

She frowns at him. “A year? How?”

“There’s a small hut beneath the shadow of a mountain. Aithusa might be able to take up residence in the caves there, once he’s grown a bit. But I want to help raise him--that’s what I get out of it, you see. I’m the last Dragonlord. Only one other person in the world knows where it is, and he won’t bother us. It’s safe. It’s away from people.”

“And after a year, you’ll leave us there alone, to live in peace?”

He’s silent, watching her. “If you are no longer a threat, then yes.”

“I don’t understand you, Emrys,” she says, “but I accept.”

He smiles with a bit of relief on his face, and she leans forward.

“But at the end of that year,” she says, “I might be the one who kills you.”

His smile doesn’t crack. “That would be about what I deserve.”

I look between the two of them. I’ve gotten better at reading human emotions, and neither of them look wholly afraid. More like, there’s a challenge in front of them, and they’re ready to rise and meet it. 

I give a little trill, and hope that they understand that I’m here to help them meet whatever challenge this is.

We travel for many nights in a row, walking quietly as Emrys pauses periodically to cover our tracks. Sometimes the snow is melted enough that he doesn’t need to. Emrys and Morgana carry our food in rucksacks, but they don’t make me carry anything. I get to play in the snow alongside them as they walk, or rather, trudge along. Morgana has me start stretching out my wings whenever we take breaks, but that hurts.

“They’ll get better,” she insists, rubbing at the joints as I grumble, “we just need to keep working at it.”

Emrys and Morgana talk little to each other; there’s a sort of tension between them. So I start reaching out to Emrys, nudging him in a friendly way or chirping at him, just so Morgana knows I like him.

And what’s not to like about Emrys? He saved our lives. And he’s kind, if a little gruff about it. I can’t forget the worried way he looked at Morgana that first night when he was healing her feet. I wish I could tell Morgana about that. 

I wish I could speak.

On the fifth or sixth night, we push on longer than usual, and I can feel my strength beginning to flag. 

“Emrys, it’s nearly dawn,” Morgana says. Light is beginning to fill the air around us, reflecting off the snow so I can see better than I ever have before. Ice coats the branches of trees--it’s beautiful.

He turns back to us with an excited smile. “We’re nearly there.” He pauses and raises a hand, and the tracks behind us fill in. He gives a little wheezing laugh, tottering ahead. “Not much farther. There! See?” 

We’ve broken through the line of trees. In the rising sun, there’s a valley with a frozen lake far below, and huge mountains. 

“Pull,” I mutter experimentally. It was meant to come out as ‘it’s beautiful’, but Morgana seems to understand. She rests a hand on my head. Her eyes are shining with some expression caught between wonder and gratitude, but when she sees Emrys grinning at her, she steels her expression.

“It’s nice,” she admits, “but what about the hut you mentioned?”

“Ah, yes. This way.” He steps into snow that sinks him up to the hip, and Morgana gives a little sound of surprise and grabs him before he falls in face-first.


	2. Cold

"The hut you built better be warm," Morgana said as they re-entered the treeline. The nights trudging through the forest had been almost unbearably cold, although Morgana was glad to see that the cold didn’t seem to bother Aithusa. Nothing was going to hurt him, ever again. She clenched her fists as a thrill of anger shuddered through her. At least she could--probably--trust Emrys with that. If it had been anyone else besides a Dragon Lord, she would have run from him. Or killed him. Or something.

In any case, dawn brought more warmth than Morgana had felt in what seemed like years, but had likely only been months. Light refracted off snow and ice--she glanced back at the valley. Long brown grasses poked up through snow. There seemed to be some sort of frozen lake--it fell out of her view, blocked by thin young trees.

They stepped into a clearing. Set in the middle of it was a sturdy little cottage, thatched and covered in simple white plaster. No points to Emrys for aesthetics. 

Morgana glanced up at the sky. There was a mountain in front of them, but they were on the south side of it, so it wouldn’t shade the clearing. 

“There’s a river not too far that way,” Emrys gestured, “and eventually, Aithusa may get too big to stay in the hut, so he’ll have to choose one of the caves up above.”

Morgana nodded, and followed Emrys to the door. Aithusa was experimentally pushing at trees to see how much snow he could knock off of them.

“How fast do you think he’ll grow?”

“I honestly have no idea,” the warlock shrugged and unlocked the front door with a muttered word, then stooped a little to get inside.

“Aren’t you a Dragon Lord? You could ask that dragon.” Morgana followed and beckoned Aithusa inside. It was marginally warmer in here, and a thick layer of rushes cushioned them from the earth. A small hearth sat in the middle of the room, and a sturdy chest was pushed against the right wall, piled high with furs and blankets. There was only the one room.

Emrys set his rucksack down by the chest, and waved his hand at the hearth. It lit up immediately. “Kilgarrah doesn’t know we’re here.”

Morgana shut the door, dodging a snow-covered Aithusa. “And why’s that?”

“He believes you’re dangerous. That you’ll be the downfall of Arthur, Camelot, and Albion itself.”

“Downfall!” Morgana gritted her teeth. Memories of visions raced through her head. Dying in a battlefield as Emrys loomed over her.  _ Emrys,  _ she’d said in the vision,  _ help me.  _

“Is he wrong? You want to kill Arthur.” Emrys’s normally warm blue eyes turned coldly to her.

“So that  _ I  _ can lead Camelot, and--we can discuss this later. I’m exhausted.  _ Someone  _ made me walk seventy-five miles in below freezing temperatures for a week straight.” She tossed her rucksack to the other side of the room, as far away from Emrys as possible.

“It was so you could build some character,” Emrys griped. “Here, pick some furs or something for a bed. Wouldn’t want your delicate back to bruise from sleeping on the rushes.”

Morgana snerked despite herself, and edged around the metal hearth casing to retrieve a few furs. Emrys tucked away a piece of paper as she approached.

“What was that?” she said suspiciously.

Emrys halted, and she could see the cogs turning in his ancient mind--try to brush it off with a crotchety lie? Or--

He harrumphed and handed the paper to her. 

It was a note that read,

_ E.-- _

_ Finished piling up that wood out back. Send word if you’ve been murdered. I got lonely and drank the cooking wine. Sorry. _

_ \--G.  _

_ PS Good luck  _

“Cooking wine?” Morgana asked.

Emrys pushed the furs off the chest and proudly opened the lid to reveal what appeared to be a well-stocked larder.

“We’ll have to do a bit of hunting,” he said, “But this should get us through winter and spring otherwise.”

Morgana waved the paper. “And who’s ‘G’?”

Emrys turned back, gathering up some of the furs. “The friend I mentioned. Even with magic, I couldn’t build a house on my own.”

Morgana grimaced and glanced around the dimly lit room. “House. Right.”

“Oh, I’d like to see you do better!” he snapped, and piled the furs into her arms. They were quite heavy--although she’d built up some leg muscle, her arms were still pretty weak, and she nearly dropped them. She lugged them over to her side of the hut, steering well clear of the hearth. She could hear Emrys muttering as she arranged the furs and put her trusty bedroll on top. Aithusa was already curled up on the rushes, blinking at her sleepily.

“Supposed to build a house… next time build a castle, that’ll suit her fancies…”

Morgana sighed and looked over. Emrys was prodding at the fire with a curmudgeonly scowl. 

“I can hardly have  _ fancies  _ when I--careful, your hair!”

Emrys quickly leaned back, narrowly avoiding catching his hair on fire. 

“You should really keep it tied back,” Morgana said reproachfully, getting to her feet.

“What, my beard, too?” he quipped, but Morgana walked around to stand by him. 

“May I?”

“Er…?”

“Your hair. I’ll tie back your hair so you don’t burn the ‘house’ down.”

“Oh. Fine.”

She pulled his thick, coarse white hair back, and made a quick braid of it, suddenly anxious to finish. It felt odd to touch another person. She’d gotten used to Aithusa’s smooth scales. And Emrys… in a way, he still didn’t feel real. But the greasiness of his hair certainly was. She ripped off a bit of her skirt, which was falling to pieces anyway, and tied it off.

“There,” Morgana said, brushing off her hands. She walked briskly back to her side of the fire.

“Thank you,” Emrys murmured. 

Morgana awoke some time past midday. She hadn’t dreamed--yet again. For months in that pit, her dreams had been full of battles and blood, but ever since Emrys had rescued them…

Emrys was snoring loudly, a now familiar sound. Morgana shut her eyes, willing herself to go back to sleep--but it was no use. She put another log on the fire. Aithusa was still sleeping, the lucky beast. And Emrys looked a little less like a feral forest hermit, with his hair braided back. Morgana reached up and touched her own hair. She had done absolutely nothing with it for, well, it was hard to remember when her hair had last seen a comb. 

There was a small, neat pile next to her pillow, a pile of clothes with a comb on top, as if by magic. Morgana threw a frown in Emrys’s direction, but his snoring continued on.

The clothes included a longsleeve shirt, breeches, underwear, and a pair of thick woollen socks. Emrys had already given her a pair of socks and knee-high boots when they first had set out; this must be an extra. Morgana glanced at him one more time before swiftly changing into the clothes.

There was something oddly familiar about the breeches. She ran a hand along the calf as she pulled the new socks on. They were a little loose on her, but would have fit perfectly if she hadn’t lost so much weight in the Pit. In fact, they…

Morgana leaned forward and smelled the knee, hoping to catch a whiff of the incense of the castle. But, no--only a slight muskiness, probably from being stored with furs. It was only that these breeches  _ looked  _ exactly like the ones that she used to have in Camelot. She’d worn them during those few days in Ealdur, rescuing Merlin’s--

She shoved that memory aside. She didn’t want to think about Merlin. Or anyone from her old life. She got to her feet and pulled her warm things on, suddenly wishing for freedom. She’d never really been free--most of her life was tied to a castle, and then it was tied to vengeance. Her insides burst with frustration. 

She strode out the door, gasping in the freezing air. The sun refracted off the snow, filling the little forest glade with light. Tears stinging and freezing on her face, Morgana grabbed a bucket by the door (she could get some water from the river, make herself useful) and tromped with heated energy towards the direction that Emrys had indicated the river was in. It ran loudly through the trees.

Fortunately, the banks weren’t frozen. Morgana stripped off her coat, boots, clothes, and forced herself to get in, shivering madly as she raked at her matted hair. Maybe she should just cut it off.

The ice cold water numbed her feelings for a few minutes, so she didn’t have room to feel angry and lost. But once she had gotten out, wicked the water off with magic, and pulled her clothes back on, her brain re-awoke.

She fell to her knees, hugging herself and still shivering. She wasn’t ready to go back to the hut yet. Emrys was too big of a presence. Besides, she wasn’t a prisoner or anything; she didn’t have to report back to him.

She almost wished she’d brought the warming stone out here with her, but now she was starting to sadistically enjoy the sensation of freezing. If she could just freeze away the strange panic bubbling up inside of her...

She wasn’t a prisoner. She could leave! She could leave right now. Emrys would take care of Aithusa--perhaps, even she was putting them in danger by being with them. She could rally support--somewhere. Storm Camelot. Kill Arthur, and Gwen, and--

Her insides twisted, and she leaned over the water, half sobbing, half dry heaving.

“What is it that I _ want _ ?” she gasped aloud. Trying to explain to Emrys her plans had felt--wrong.

The river certainly didn’t answer. She had no allies. No friends, except a speechless dragon. Her months in the pit had at times descended into delirium, where she had no longer wanted revenge. She had just wanted  _ out _ , to live a peaceful life somewhere, without anyone else to hold her down. Her destiny as a seer had haunted her--if she could just  _ stop Seeing,  _ could she, at last, be content? 

Morgana sat back, feeling gutted. Magic was a part of who she was. To be rid of it--that wasn’t right.

What was right? Who was she? She’d been afraid for so long. She used to be confident. Confident in… what? 

Her mind spun, grasping at some identity that continued to slip through her fingers. She laid down on the cold earth and looked at the gathering clouds above the bare tree branches. Cold soaked through her skin and into her bones.

Maybe she didn’t have to be anyone. Not for now. Not for this moment, when she could smell snow and water, hear only the river, feel her heart pulsing in her chest. She didn’t have to think of being free or imprisoned, ruling a country or hiding in the mountains. About taking care of a dragon, or of being cared for by a strange old man. If she could just be  _ here,  _ could that be enough?

Her sadness seeped into the ground. 

A cold wind blew in the treetops.

Morgana lay absolutely still. Apathy, not peace, pinned her down.

Snow drifted down from the sky. A few flakes caught on her eyelashes, clouding her vision. She twitched a finger, but wasn’t sure if it moved or not. 

Something was happening in the Earth. She could almost touch the magic of it, stirring deep below her.

“Heal me,” she whispered.

_ Morgana!  _

A voice, not from the Earth, rang through her head. Familiar, somehow. She didn’t want to talk to it. 

_ Morgana, where are you?  _

She replied with the sound of the river that still rushed by her ear.

It was probably Emrys. As she heard his heavy, shuffling footsteps approaching through the underbrush, she turned her head slightly away. She didn’t want to be looked at right now.

_ Leave me alone, Emrys.  _

“I didn’t break you out of a dungeon so you could die of hypothermia,” Emrys snapped. “Come on.” he prodded her with something hard. She turned her eyes back to him. He was holding a walking stick. He’d poked her with a stick. She wasn’t sure whether to be amused or insulted.

She wasn’t sure of anything.


	3. Identity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooo thanks for the kudos and reviews!

Merlin tapped his staff against the ground, trying to hide his worry with impatience. “Get up,” he said. “Can you stand?”

Morgana stiffly raised her arm from the elbow, not high enough for him to pull her to her feet. Her eyes were strangely blank. He leaned on his staff to kneel down, and took her hand.

“Damn it, your fingers are blue.” He started rubbing them. They were ice cold, almost dead. “What’s the matter with you, anyway?”

Her lips parted. “I… I don’t know who I am.”

He paused. “What, literally?” Had she somehow developed amnesia? Could that be a good thing? 

She shook her head slightly, closing her eyes. “No. Who am I meant to be, Emrys?”

Well, he knew who he wanted her to be. He opened his mouth to tell her. Brave again. Kind. An ally. Someone who fought side by side with Arthur to defend the weak. But he hesitated. He could see himself standing in a cave, torch held high, while a dragon told him cryptic things about his future. Don’t trust the witch. Let the Druid boy die. Everything that someone else had told him to do had only sped up disaster.

He reflexively squeezed her hand. “I want to tell you who to be. I can see it so clearly. But I once let someone else tell me who to be, and… You’ll just have to develop your own vision, and do what you feel is right.”

She sat up, and leaned forward into her knees, as though something inside her was putting her off balance.

“I… I only want to help Aithusa,” she said. Her voice cracked.

Merlin gently put a hand on her shoulder. “Then let’s do that.”

Most of the remaining day was spent in awkward silence, as Merlin fetched water, made pottage, and started accounting for everything in the larder. Yes, Gwaine had drunk all the cooking wine. But he had somehow managed to gather a large sack of walnuts while Merlin was gone.

The sun set early, and wind howled outside. Morgana simply sat and watched, listlessly holding Aithusa, who seemed content to be held. She ate the pottage with a muttered thanks, and seemed to be ready to curl up into bed, but Merlin pulled out the sack of walnuts.

“I’ve got a task for us to do,” he said. He edged over so he wasn’t completely on the other side of the fire, and set the sack between them, a little out of arm’s length. With a wave of his hand, he opened it and folded it back to reveal the walnuts.

Morgana blinked at him. Aithusa flopped his head down and snuffled.

"If we're going to survive winter, we both have to work at it," Merlin said.

Morgana's mouth thinned. "Fine. Where are the nutcrackers?" 

Merlin replied by floating one of the nuts out and cracking it in the air. He floated the bits of shell into the fire, and caught the intact nut in his hand.

"It's a good way to practice some finesse," he said, "rather than just blasting people over with raw power."

Morgana floated a nut over to herself and cast him a cold look. "So now you're training me? I've been taught plenty of magic before, you know."

"Dark things," Merlin acknowledged. "But how can you decide between that and light if you don't take a look at both?"

"Right, and this is light--" the walnut exploded in front of her, and Aithusa jumped. Morgana stared at the fire. Bits of exploded shell were caught in her tangled black hair.

Without looking, she stuck out her hand, and another walnut zoomed into her palm. She gripped it, knuckles turning white, and her eyes flashed with magic. Merlin heard a sort of shhh sound, and she flung a fine brown dust of disintegrated walnut onto the fire and gripped her hair, taking shuddering breaths.

Merlin swallowed, and tried to look calm as he shelled another walnut himself.

“Do you think Aithusa likes walnuts?” he said conversationally.

“Like I said before,” Morgana snapped, “he’ll eat anything.”

“And you?”

“I’ll eat anything, too.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Well, I will!” She leaned forward, gripping her blanket like she was ready to tear it apart. 

“What about, like, tree bark?”

Her glare twisted into confusion. “... What?”

“Or frogs.” Merlin popped his walnut into his mouth. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?”

Morgana was silent, and Merlin cracked another walnut, and set the meat of it aside, into a bowl.

“Rat soup,” she finally said.

Merlin’s heart clenched. “I… ergh, that sounds…”

“Stringy. Arth… I mean, the person who gave it to me tried to pass it off as pork first, but he was never a very good liar.” She didn’t quite smile, but her mouth relaxed a little. “You?”

“Oh. Um… raw beetles?”

She scoffed. “Who hasn’t eaten raw beetles?”

“Oh, right, yes, it’s a universal experience. The crunch, the goo…”

“The aftertaste,” she finished. She looked down at her hands, mouth twisting in sarcasm. “As far as I’m concerned, you haven’t lived until you’ve eaten a beetle.”

Merlin cackled. “That’s what we’ll be eating if we don’t find another food source besides this larder. We’ve still got a few months of winter left.”

“Oh--what month is it right now?”

Merlin quickly floated another walnut out so he wouldn’t stare at her. “Erm, I think it’s January.”

She nodded. “So, we missed Yule… and Christmas…” she shrugged, and floated another walnut over to herself. “Actually, you couldn’t quite say we missed it. Pretty sure we were the entertainment for it.”

She floated the nut between her hands, focusing. Merlin, speechless, averted his eyes. 

“We, uh, never did anything big for the winter holidays,” he said, “growing up, I mean. And being a hermit you sort of lose track of time. Oh--well, we had mince pies.”

“We had feasts.” Morgana’s eyes grew distant as she studied the intact walnut in front of her. “My father… the man I thought was my father would give me silk for a new gown at the beginning of Advent, and I’d wear it all throughout the Holiday season. I know silk is a little ostentatious, but it was always my favorite fabric, after that.”

The walnut cracked, and the pieces, a little sloppily broken, fell into her hands. She smiled.

The next morning, Morgana seemed to regain more energy.

“Come on, Emrys,” she said, stoking up the fire, “We shouldn’t waste daylight.”

“Waste your daylight,” Merlin grumbled, groggily crawling out of his bedroll. He stumbled over to the door to answer nature’s call in the outhouse he’d built around the back.

“Wait, do you have a knife somewhere?” Morgana said, “You should really peel carrots before you cook them, you know.”

“‘S’one in my bag,” Merlin said, trudging out the door.

When he got back, Morgana’s energy seemed a little more subdued. She gave him a furtive glance as he settled down.

“Right,” he said. “What are we making for breakfast?”

Morgana hesitated. “I don’t know. If we added this,” she held up a small, glowing vial, “would it kill all three of us?”

Merlin’s stomach dropped. It was his antidote--it would turn him young again. It glowed innocently in her pale hand.

“Where’d you get that?” he crabbed.

“In your bag.”

“Snooping--?”

“It’s where you said the knife was!” She shook it a little. “Is it poison? Just in case you didn’t have the guts to use the knife on me?”

“It’s not poison,” Merlin said. Maybe that would have been a good idea…? But, obviously, she would have found it. Fortunately she hadn’t been quite as curious about his young-person clothes at the bottom of his pack, or maybe she hadn’t gotten that far before she’d started being paranoid. “It’s medicine. For me.”

Either the bottle was vibrating, or her hand was shaking. “Prove it. Drink it.”

Merlin held his hand out, and she handed it to him. He turned it over in his hands.

“Sometimes in the spring, I’ll get a nasty bout of pneumonia,” he fibbed. “This usually does the trick. But I don’t have a backup bottle, and it’s more potent when you gather the ingredients for it in the summer and dry them properly.” He wagged the bottle. “I promise it’s not poison. If I survive the spring, I’ll drink it, how’s that?”

He could see her jaw muscles clench and unclench. Then she reluctantly nodded. “But I’ll hang onto it until then, so you can’t switch it out.”

He shrugged and handed it back over. If he and Morgana got separated somehow, he could just re-make the potion. But with any luck, she would forget about it before the summer.


	4. Speech

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lullaby Morgana sings is “Pais Dinogad”, but I’m not good enough at Welsh to give an appropriately lyrical translation of it.

The world is delightful. Sometimes water will melt under a layer of icy snow, and create a trickle of water, like a miniature river. Sometimes a log will go on the fire, but there was something else on the log that makes it go SNAP! and it’s not scary. Sometimes Emrys and Morgana will smile at each other, or joke around and even make each other laugh.  
But it’s a good laughter; it’s not a laughter that comes from another's pain.  
We spend time outside if it’s not dark or snowing, and Morgana or Emrys run with me into the valley, urging me to spread my wings as we sprint. It’s tiring, but fun. But I don’t like to spread my wings, they ache.  
In a quiet moment, while the sunset throws gold and pink across the snow, Morgana sits down next to me as we look over the valley.  
“See that?” she points to a bird flying out of the treetops. “He’s flying. Do you remember flying?”  
She looks at me hopefully.  
“Yes,” I say. Her eyes widen.  
“Really?” she says softly.  
“Yes,” I say again. Why is she surprised by this? “I fpblew… to you.”   
She nods, even though I know I mucked up one of the words. “That’s right,” she whispers. “You saved me.” She leans forward and presses a kiss to my cheek.   
The darkness quickly gathers after that, and she gets to her feet. “Come on, it’s cold.”  
Yes, yes, it’s cold--they both say this all the time. It truly doesn’t bother me, though. I think I can tell the difference in temperature. Perhaps I’ll get better at that.  
“Emrys,” Morgana said as she opens the door to let me into the hut.  
“Mm?” Emrys squints and looks up from stirring the clay pot that food comes from.  
“Aithusa spoke!” she says. She’s practically glowing with excitement.  
The excitement seems to infect him, too. He lurches to his feet, then winces and rubs at his back. “R-really? Aithusa, that’s great!”  
I slink over to Morgana’s bedroll and hide my head in her furs, suddenly embarrassed. Yes, I spoke. But it’s not like I spoke well.   
“Oh, now you’ve embarrassed him,” Morgana scolds.  
“I wasn’t the one who came in and announced it! Come on, Thuse, we’re proud of you. You don’t have to be shy about that.”  
My heart is thudding in my chest, and tears of delight gather in my eyes. I wriggle in a little deeper, trying to get a hold of myself. They’re proud of me. Proud of me. That makes me--part of them. Part of this happy life we have under a thatched roof.  
I feel Morgana kneel next to me. “Thuse, I’m sorry I made a big deal out of it. I was just excited.”  
I pull my head out and hide it under Morgana’s arm, trying to fit into her lap like I used to be able to.  
“Me too,” I say.

I experiment with more words after that. Morgana starts singing to me,

Dinogad’s smock, speckled and dotted  
I made it for him from marten’s skins… 

And soon, I can count with her at the end of the song, one… two… three.. and we sing it together. Emrys stays silent when we do so, whittling bits of wood or making the fire’s smoke shift into interesting shapes. He’ll hum sometimes, but even I can tell he’s off-tune, and Morgana politely doesn’t ask him to sing along.

The snow melts, the daylight hours lengthen, and Emrys develops a cough.  
“Is this that seasonal pneumonia you were talking about?” Morgana asks, fretfully pouring him mug after mug of tea.  
“No, no, it’s not pneumonia, it’s just a little cold--”  
I don’t think that’s quite accurate; the air is, in general, warmer.  
He dissolves into a coughing fit.  
“You’d better at least stay on the other side of the fire,” he croaks, “it would be bad if you caught it. Or if Aithusa somehow did.”  
“Do you think that’s possible?” Morgana shoots me a panicked look. I shrug. I’d never been sick before. “Maybe you could ask the other dragon what his metabolism is like--”  
“I told you, Kilgarrah can’t know where we are. I could stop him from killing you, but I don’t want to get on his bad side.”  
“Well, at least take your medicine!” Morgana says, yanking a little vial out of her pack. She puts it on top of the food chest.  
“No.”  
“Why not?” She slams her hands against the floor reeds.  
“It’s not time yet. And I’m not sick enough. I’m fine.” He proves this by turning over in his bedroll and coughing heartily into his pillow.  
“Stubborn old fool,” Morgana mutters, clambering to her feet. “Aithusa, let’s leave him alone for a bit, he’s driving me crazy.”  
Once she’s pulled on her boots and tromped outside, she pauses at the edge of the valley and looks out, breathing heavily and frowning at the horizon.  
“Worried?” I say.  
“About Emrys?” she kicks at the grass. “I just… I don’t want to have doubts about him. I feel like we’re getting along so well.”  
“Mm.”  
“You agree?” she prompts absent-mindedly.  
“I agree.”  
She strides over to a rock and sits down. “What if… his ‘medicine’ is poison after all? And that’s why he won’t take it?” she buries her face in her hands. “I feel like I’m being trapped again."  
Like in the Pit. My throat closes so I can’t form the words.   
“And this life… it’s nice, but maybe I want more?”  
I go over to her and put my head in her lap. “More than me?” I say in a small voice.  
She cracks a reassuring grin, and strokes my eye ridges. “No, it’s not about you. I just… well. Maybe I shouldn’t talk out loud so much. You kind of develop that habit when there aren’t a lot of people around.”  
“You’re trapped?” I prompt.  
“You still thinking about that? Don’t worry about it. I just…” she looks out over the valley. The sun is getting lower in the sky. “I feel a little helpless, is all. We just have Emrys to depend on. Maybe he’s been lonely, and that’s why he rescued us, you know? I was lonely too, when I… before I met you. And now he won’t let me help him.” She plants a kiss on my forehead, and lingers, leaning her forehead against mine. “How far do you think we can trust him?”  
I hum a little. “I think he likes us. If it’s poison, he… he won’t…”  
“He’ll have gotten rid of it, or replaced it now with something that won’t kill him.” She straightens back up. “Let’s give him a little time to make the switch, if he needs to make it.”  
Her face clouds over, like it often does, like she’s remembering something painful. I poke playfully at her stomach, and her eyes re-focus as she smiles.  
“Hey, now. How are your wings doing?”   
I groan, but truthfully, they don’t ache as much as they used to. I stretch one out tentatively for her.  
Her eyes light up with pride as she runs a hand over the bone structure.  
“You know you’re beautiful?” she says quietly.   
I regard her, how her cheeks have color in them, how her dark hair contrasts with the tree and sky behind her.  
“You are too,” I say.  
She grins at me. “We’re not trapped anymore. Either of us. Right?”  
“Right.”  
She gets to her feet. “Now let’s go save that bastard who calls himself a warlock.”  
“Bastard,” I agree.


	5. Reveal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for the encouraging comments and kudos! I think I got overwhelmed by thinking this had to be something bigger than my original vision. Tbh there are just a few chapters left in this. Thanks for reading!

As Morgana and Aithusa headed back into the hut, something stirred at the edge of Morgana’s awareness. She paused and looked out over the valley. In the distant lake, a large fish flopped at the surface of the water. Maybe they should try fishing. She’d only been as far as the lake once or twice, while trying to get Aithusa to fly.

Shaking off a creeping feeling, she caught up to Aithusa and steeled herself to take charge of Emrys’s illness.

Emrys was asleep, and the vial was precisely where she’d left it. He was snoring more loudly than usual, probably from congestion. Morgana lit some dried sage to clear the air, muttering an incantation for healing.

The potion was obviously magical. It must be a magical remedy--maybe it really was a last-resort cure? Like, it would clean out his system painfully? Old people often had digestion issues, right?

Or maybe he didn’t want to take it because it tasted nasty.

She made some broth that Emrys barely woke up enough to drink, and sang to Aithusa as usual. Then she settled down with her dragon to go to sleep over a dim fire.

She awoke to the sound of coughing, and the sound made her sit up suddenly, shattering the dream she’d just had--something about tentacles? 

Emrys was coughing into his pillow again, but that wasn’t nearly enough to muffle it. If they were only at the castle, Gaius would have an ointment or something that would help.

She let go of wishing for Gaius--Emrys was enough Old Man to keep her busy. She disentangled herself from her blankets.

“Emrys?” she said tentatively.

“‘M fine.” his voice was muffled. “Sorry.”

She did her best to keep the fever down, not knowing exactly how to take care of him. She dozed off a few times by his side, her hand still pressed into a cloth on his forehead. She ground up a poultice to apply to his chest, wincing as that seemed to make him cough more.

What if he died here? She struggled to bring back that apathy that had helped her through pain and doubt before. But it wouldn’t quite come. 

She had to face it: she cared about Emrys.

And therefore, he was not allowed to die.

“Morgana?” Aithusa’s voice cut through her consciousness, and she was immediately awake, sitting up.

“Yes, what?”

“Emrys is…”

She disentangled herself from blankets and bent over Emrys. He was still breathing, but his face was flushed, he was sweating, and his breaths were coming in short and fast. She pressed a hand to his hot forehead.

“He’s too old for this,” she said through gritted teeth. “Aithusa, hand me that vial. I don’t care if he doesn’t like it, he needs to get cured. Now.”

Emrys’s eyelids flickered, and he turned his head away a little. 

“Come on, work with me, Emrys,” she said, and he weakly tried to turn over. She switched positions so her feet were towards the center of the room, and his head was in her lap. She looped a knee over his shoulder to keep him in place. Aithusa handed her the vial.

She supported his head and forced the drink down his throat, snapping his mouth shut. He cringed and wriggled, and some spilled into his beard. Morgana disentangled herself and helped him sit up.

“You alright?” she said nervously, “should we get you out…” something was changing. “...side?”  
Emrys coughed. His hair was… fading. Was he going to fade away in front of her? 

He coughed again, turning away from her and half-collapsing onto the floor reeds. Now, instead of long white hair, his hair was dark and short, exposing ears that stuck out a little bit. And something looked wrong with his body. Were his shoulders broader? What the hell?

“Why’s that taste like toadwater?” he said. His voice wasn’t right. It was hoarse, yes, but it didn’t creak, and it was weirdly deep. He gave a small cough, and sat up, looking over to her side of the hut. “Morgana? W…” he looked around, and met her gaze.

It was Merlin.

A strange flash of heat went up her body, and she leaned heavily against the wall. 

His brow wrinkled. “Are you alright? I…” he touched his chest, blinked, and, almost comically, seemed to realize that he no longer had a beard.

“Aouh,” he said. 

Morgana stumbled for the door.

“Morgana,” Merlin said, “Wait--”

She slammed it behind her, and locked it with a spell.

Shit. She’d left Aithusa in there with him. He’d be fine. She pressed her hands to her mouth. Her feet were cold--she hadn’t put shoes on. 

“Morgana!” Merlin shouted from inside, and Morgana jumped back, spun herself around, and took off running down into the valley.

Merlin. Merlin! Of all people--how? Why?

Merlin was Emrys?

Emrys was Merlin!

She half-sobbed as her freezing feet carried her through the long grass. She wanted to throw up. She’d, she’d bonded with Emrys. They were raising Aithusa together. She’d assumed so many things about the old man that just weren’t true. And he was one of her worst enemies--but he always was, wasn’t he? Her doom.

“Morgana, wait! Please!” 

She didn’t turn around--she didn’t want to know how far he was behind her. She ran for the lake--no, she should skirt it, maybe with her headstart she could get far enough away from him to… to what?

More than hearing him run down the hill after her, she could feel him, his presence growing stronger, rocketing towards her like a cannon.

She stopped near the rocky edge of the lake, turned, and threw up her hands.

“Stop!” she panted. “Don’t come any closer!”

He was maybe a hundred yards away. He skidded to a stop, audibly wheezing. He probably wasn’t completely healed from his sickness. Good. He’d also changed into breeches and a familiar blue shirt.

He was shaking his head. “Morgana, I’m not going to hurt you. Please--”

“You--you!” She pulled at the roots of her hair. “Merlin, why? Everything--” she couldn’t even begin to list all that he’d done to hurt her. Her voice choked up over the words. “Why?” she demanded again, releasing her tangled hair.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said. “Truly, I am. I never wanted to hurt you, but--I couldn’t trust you.”

“Why not?”

“You wanted to kill Uther!”

“Why didn’t you want to kill Uther?” She threw her arms out. “Look at what all your mistrust did to me! You had magic all along, didn’t you? If you really wanted me on your side, why--! At the very beginning of all of this, god, why--!”

“I’m a coward, Morgana!” Merlin said. His voice was strained, his eyes rimmed in red. “I blame myself for all of this! If I hadn’t been so scared of revealing what I was, everything could have been different.” He gasped a breath, pressing a hand against his chest. “And then Morgause--everything just became a whole lot worse, and I knew I could trust you even less.”

“Worse.” she was trembling. “Morgause gave me purpose. And family. She was there for me when everyone else abandoned me--you. Uther. Arthur. And now that low-born cow Gwenivere is on MY throne and--!”

“What, so you just get to pick and choose who you care about?” Merlin interrupted. “Gwen was your friend! She loved you! And so did Arthur! So did U--”

“Shut up, Merlin!” she screamed.

“So did Uther!” Merlin shouted, his voice booming. Morgana reeled back a bit, just managing to keep her feet. He winced and staggered a little, coughing. His face was flushed. “And so did I.”

“What’s a little poison between friends, huh?” she sneered. She caught movement at the top of the hill. Aithusa was pacing back and forth. Merlin must have asked him to stay behind. Or forced him to. 

“I didn’t want to--” he choked.

“How unlucky for you it didn’t work,” she said, watching Aithusa’s pacing. “You wouldn’t be here. Camelot would be safe from me, right?” sudden tears choked her throat. “Aithusa wouldn’t be so--if he hadn’t been with me when they caught me, he--but you’re a Dragon Lord, why wasn’t he with you?” She leveled her gaze on him. “Seems like the people who need you the most are the people you’re quickest to abandon.”

He stared at the grass next to her feet. “I didn’t just come here to save you,” he started.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Aithusa--”

“I came here because I need help, too.” he looked into her face. “I’ve done--terrible things. Things I knew were wrong, all because someone else was saying it was right.” He knelt in front of her. “Morgana, I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I can’t ask for it. But for the first time in my life, I’m doing something because the alternative was too awful. I couldn’t leave you and Aithusa in that pit. Even if you’re my enemy. Even if you’re destined to destroy Camelot. Maybe I’ll regret it. But I haven’t regretted the past few months with you.”

Morgana stared at him. Still sick, his hair in disarray, eyes full of both despair and hope. She took a shaky breath and turned away, looking across the lake. It was a quiet spring morning, the sun shone across the rippling water.

“I’m not ready,” she said quietly. “I need time. I just need time.” she swallowed back the tears that threatened the edges of her eyes.

Merlin was silent. She could feel his questioning gaze. Then he dissolved into a coughing fit.

Finally, she looked back down at him. “You’re sick,” she said. “You should go back inside and lie down.”

“What are you going to do?” he said hoarsely.

“I need to think, okay?” she snapped. “Go die of a fever, I’ll be back by nightfall.” She turned away and glared at the water. Once she heard him heading back up the hill, she turned to watch. He looked… different from how he used to back in Camelot. Not so gawky. He stopped often to catch his breath. 

Once he reached the top of the hill, he said something to Aithusa, who was practically dancing back and forth. Aithusa cocked his head and formed words. Merlin replied, and they both turned to glance at her, and then, to her astonishment, Aithusa spread out his wings and bounded, flapping, until he was high enough off the ground to glide down the hill. 

Aithusa landed clumsily next to her, and looked up at her with sparkling eyes.

“Well done, Thuse!” she said, smiling and cradling his face in her hands. 

He trilled.

Her smile faded. “What did Em--Merlin say to you?”

Aithusa chirped. “Follow,” he said. 

Morgana dropped her hands. “I see.”

“He’s… mm… worried.”

“I’m sure he is,” she said shortly, and glared at the top of the hill. Merlin wasn’t there anymore. “I don’t need a bodyguard,” she said. “I just… gah!” she cried out in frustration and started stomping away, finally feeling how cold her feet were in the chill spring air.

Aithusa slunk after her, following her around the edge of the lake until they were out of sight of the cottage. Morgana sat down heavily on a boulder and hugged her legs, shivering.

“Gah?” Aithusa prompted.

“Merlin and I have a lot of history,” she said darkly. 

“Walnuts,” Aithusa agreed.

“He--what?”

“And snow. Soup. Free from Pit. Healing.” he poked at her feet with his nose. 

Morgana wriggled her toes. “It’s not just the past few months. We met a long time before you were born.”

“Hatched. Gave me… Aithusa.”

“Huh?” Morgana frowned down at him.

“Aithusa,” Aithusa repeated. He blew a little cloud of smoke. It formed into an egg shape, strangely pointed at the top. “Aithusa,” he whispered, and the cloud-egg cracked. The head of a baby dragon emerged. Aithusa took a deep breath and blew more smoke. The hatching dragon floated away from them across the water, and the smoke formed into two more figures: An enormous dragon, and a man. The rest of the egg fell away, and the little cloud dragon reared on its hind legs. It, and the large dragon, took off into the air. The man-shaped smoke vanished. A moment later, so did the two dragons.

“You know Kilgarrah,” Morgana said softly.

Aithusa made a sad little note and rested his head on her lap.

“Was he good to you?”

“Don’t know. Flying. Gave me secrets. Fire, magic. I forgot.” He pressed his head against her stomach. She stroked the ridges on his head.

“We’re going to be okay,” Morgana said. “I love you, you know? We just need each other. That’s all that matters.”

He shook his head. “Dragon Lord,” he said, his voice muffled.

Morgana’s hand stilled, and she clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms. “I’m still angry with him. I’m so angry, I--” she stood up suddenly, dislodging Aithusa. “Who is he to come back, and--admit he’s a terrible person and--I just--!”

“Gah,” Aithusa said, nodding.

She sighed. “But you need him. I get it. And I’m not leaving you.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “This is not going to be easy.” She bent down and kissed the end of Aithusa’s snout. “I’ll be fine, Thuse. I just need to think.” And she strode, still barefoot, into the trees.


	6. Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started watching Umbrella Academy (finally), which has "Sir Percival" in it, so obviously I had to think about Merlin again haha.

Merlin watched Aithusa bound and then glide down the hill, distantly pleased with the dragon’s progress. Then he turned back to the cottage. He just had to make it through the door.

Just take another step. And another. Door was still open. Should probably close it. Should probably be concerned that the floor was spinning. It would be fine if he just leaned over, right?

“Emrys!” Aithusa called from somewhere far away.

Merlin tried to focus. The dragon was obviously trying to drag him. He tried to help by moving his arms and crawling. He was just so disoriented. He groaned and re-collapsed backwards onto his bedroll. 

“Thusa?” He said, blinking the dragon into focus. “Where’s Morgana?”

“Forest,” Aithusa said.

“She needs you more than I do,” he muttered. “Go… go after her.”

“No.” Something sharp and heavy pressed into his chest, pinning him down. And then, a strange keening sound filled the cottage, hot air blew over his face. Merlin weakly tried to cover his ears, wincing and turning away. His lungs cleared, and he coughed once. 

Aithusa released him, and Merlin sat up and stared at him in disbelief. He felt--better. Still weak, but not so dizzy and heated. Aithusa smiled and ducked his head a little.

“Better?” he asked slyly.

“That was amazing,” Merlin gasped out. “Have you--when did you learn to do that?”

“Forgot how. Remembered,” the dragon puffed out his chest.

“Thank you.” He started to stand up, but Aithusa pressed on his knee so he had to stay.

“Still sick,” Aithusa said.

“But I feel better.”

Aithusa hissed. “Still sick,” he said again. 

Merlin looked down at himself and took an experimental breath. Aithusa was right--his lungs were already starting to fill with liquid again, he could feel it. 

“Fine. You’re right.”

With Aithusa’s reluctant permission, Merlin got himself better situated with a built-up fire, poultice to help his breathing, and a way to sleep so he was propped up enough to breathe. He was just finishing off a bowl of broth when the door thudded open. Morgana stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light of the setting sun. Cold air rushed in, stoking the fire, and Merlin winced, glancing up at her.

She glared at him. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were rimmed with shadows. “Not dead yet?” She said shortly, and closed the door firmly behind her. 

“Didn’t want to make it too easy for you,” Merlin joked. Her frown tightened. He cleared his throat and set his bowl down, and she strode over to her bedroll next to Aithusa, and stretched her red feet out at the fire. Merlin side-glanced them and looked up at her, but the look on her face told him he probably shouldn’t say anything.

“I, um,” he said uneasily, “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“About which part?”

“All of it. I didn’t want you to find out… that way.”

“Oh? What way did you want me to find out?”

Merlin leaned back, and his sigh turned into a cough. “Dunno,” he managed. “But, um, thank you for saving my life. I don’t think my old body could’ve handled this sickness much longer.”

“You think I wanted to save you?” she snarled.

“I hope you wanted to save Emrys,” Merlin said. “But it doesn’t matter. I just don’t know what to do, now.”

“You can leave.” The venom had gone out of her voice, and Merlin shot her a look. She took a deep breath. “If you go back to Camelot, Gaius can heal you. Aithusa and I will be fine for a few weeks while you’re gone.”

Merlin’s jaw tightened.

“And I’m not going to get into trouble,” she said, tucking her feet underneath her. “Aithusa and I are safe here. If I tried to get into contact with my former allies, I could too easily fall back into S-Sarrum’s hands. And I don’t know if he would let me live this time. Is Camelot still--friendly to you?”

Merlin nodded hesitantly.

“Then if I’m to take refuge in Camelot, I need you on my side.”

Merlin’s mouth fell open slightly. “Do you mean it?”

“Big walls, big castle, semi-competent knights and a powerful wizard? Beats a baby dragon and a hut in the woods.” A frown tugged at her mouth as she stroked Aithusa’s head. “Not that I mind this temporary safe haven.” She glanced at Merlin and then immediately looked away as though repulsed.

Merlin looked away as well. He felt strangely exposed in his young body--especially when Morgana kept giving him dark looks. He stole another glance at her. Her face had filled out a little, but she was still thinner than she should be. And she seemed sad, like a fight had gone out of her. So different from how she used to be.

He closed his eyes and turned away again with a tired sigh. She’d never be like she used to be. Maybe that was good, in some ways. She’d been so frightened of herself. Now…? It had to be more complicated, with whatever poison Morgause had planted inside her.

God, he wished he could root out that poison. He wished he could trust her. Maybe he never really would--both of them would constantly be waiting for the other to destroy their peace. Even now, probably the only reason he was still alive was because she felt she owed him for saving their lives. 

He’d have to use Aithusa to keep her in line. The thought made his stomach drop. Use. But he had to. He couldn’t trust her. 

He felt so weak--he was going to fall unconscious any moment now. He blinked once, and felt a tear fall down his cheek.

“Aithusa,” he whispered, and he could feel two sets of eyes on him. He continued in Dragon Speech. “Don’t let her kill me during the night.” 

And with that, he fell into a fitful sleep.

\--

He woke several times during the night. Morgana kept to her side of the room, and Aithusa’s tail was laid across her feet. The morning came in strange stages as he went in and out of consciousness--Morgana still asleep, Morgana cooking something, Morgana gone. He finally woke for the final time late into the morning. There was a bowl of porridge within arm’s reach which he slowly ate, looking wearily around the small space. Then he dug into his pack, pulling out paper, pen, and ink. A little sloppily, he wrote:

G--

Am sick. M&D are secure. Need a ride for one. Meet me at Checkpoint 2 asap.

\--E  
PS. If not there in 3 days, M&D not secure after all.

Then he got to his feet and stumbled to the door.

Morgana and Aithusa were close--in the field, probably. He pulled his boots and coat on, shivering. Spring was warming, but not fast enough to his liking. He walked a little unsteadily through the small grove before breaking through the treeline. Morgana stood at the edge of the hill, and at his approach her head jerked a little towards him, but other than that she didn’t acknowledge him. He walked to her side--but a healthy six feet away from her. He folded up his message into a rough bird-shape.

“Here’s a trick,” he said, “Learn a bunch of verbs of the Old Tongue, and you can make your own simple spells.” He held the paper bird to his lips. “Befleog wið Camelot. Gefind Gwaine,” he whispered, and tossed it into the air. It seemed to catch a wind, and zoomed away. Finally, he chanced a look at Morgana. She wasn’t looking at him, but at Aithusa, who was bounding up the hill like a puppy. He stopped in front of Morgana, looking worriedly at Merlin. Morgana leaned down and stroked his cheek with a smile.

“Well done,” she said, “Go on and do it again so Emrys can see.”

As soon as Aithusa turned around to attempt another glide, Morgana’s smile dropped, and she waited until he was several meters away before she spoke.

“I don’t want you to use your Dragon Lord speech on him,” she said coldly.

Merlin waited a beat, watching Aithusa glide a few feet, land in a run, and then glide again. “I don’t know if I can trust you yet,” he said.

“You can trust me about this,” she hissed. She glared at the ground near his feet. “If you use that to command him, you’re taking away his free will. It’s like you’re putting him back in a cage.”

Merlin clenched his fists. “I never know what’s real with you, Morgana. You lied to us for so long.”

“So did you.” Her eyes were green with hatred as they met his. Almost immediately, she looked away again. “We don’t have time right now for me to make some grand gesture to show you might trust me.” She hugged herself. “But the fact is, you could very well come back here with an army to take me. Either of us could kill each other at any moment. But we won’t. Because of Aithusa.” She took a breath and seemed to struggle to meet his eyes, but this time she held his gaze. “Merlin.” she swallowed the name like it was something unpleasant. “I won’t do anything that might harm Aithusa while you’re gone. I won’t leave. I won’t contact anyone. And I’ll keep him safe.” She took two steps forward. “I promise.”

Merlin considered her. “I believe you,” he finally said. “I believe in your love for Aithusa. And I care for him, too. For his sake, I won’t kill you, or capture you against your will. I--don’t want to keep him on a leash. So,” he took a breath and stepped closer to her. “Until it becomes absolutely necessary, I won’t use dragon speech on him.” he held out his hand, and Morgana took his wrist instead, like they were warriors. He squeezed her bony wrist.

Something flapped, and they both turned to see that Aithusa had actually taken to the sky. Morgana gasped in excitement, releasing Merlin’s wrist to take several steps forward. Aithusa unsteadily turned, overcompensated, plummeted, and barely caught himself in time to land heavily on his feet a few meters down the hill. He threw his head back and trilled.

“YES!” Morgana laughed, and Merlin laughed too, pumping his fist into the air with a whoop. They caught each other’s eyes while they were grinning, and Morgana’s eyes widened a little as she looked quickly away, but this time her grin didn’t fade. “Well done, Aithusa!” she called out.

“Thanks!” Aithusa bobbed his head and turned back around, seemingly preparing himself to go again.

Still smiling, Merlin turned and coughed into his arm. “I’m going to pack,” he said.

“You’re leaving today, then?” Morgana shot him a puzzled look.

“I need to make sure I get to the meeting place on time. I’ll have Aithusa boost me before I go. Ugh.” He pressed a fist to his suddenly aching forehead. “I should only be gone a few weeks. Think you can contact me if you need me?”

“Befleog wið Camelot. Gefind Scumbag,” Morgana said without activating her magic. “I think I got it.”

Merlin tried not to laugh again. He packed quickly, with any luck he’d only be on the road for one night before he met up with Gwaine.

Aithusa cleared his lungs for him. Merlin gave him a fond pat on his head--he’d grown rather larger, his head was nearly to Merlin’s chest--nodded to Morgana, and strode towards Camelot.


	7. Caves

I miss Emrys--or rather, Merlin. I think Morgana does too, she’s a little too bright for the next few days, happy and encouraging me to fly. I do need the encouragement. Flying is more complicated than simply flapping my wings. Straight lines aren’t a problem, but my tail throws off my balance when I turn. I watch birds closely, to try to figure out what they do with their tails, and try to remember what I used to do with mine. It’s subtle. And I feel too bulky for subtlety.

As the weather slowly warms, I grow larger. It’s almost fortunate that Emrys (Merlin!) left, because now I can take up his side of the hut. Not that I take up all of it, but sharing Morgana’s side was beginning to get crowded.

It makes me think. Emrys had said a while back that I could live in the mountain. Should I start looking for a home in there?

“Our larder is getting low,” Morgana mutters one night about a week after Merlin left. She glances at me, forcing a smile. “Think you’re ready to learn to hunt?”

“I want to explore the mountain,” I say.

She blinks at me, sitting back on her heels. “The mountain?”

“Emrys say I should live there.”

“Said. And his name’s Merlin.”

“He was Emrys when he ‘said’ it.”

Morgana looks down at the lentils she’d poured into the cookpot. “I don’t know if I’m ready to face it,” she says quietly. “You… leaving me.”

“I bring you trouble,” I suggest softly.

She scoffs. “I bring myself trouble. It’s mutual trouble-bringing. Anyway,” she sniffles and reaches for the bucket of water, ladling some into the pot. “I’m not sure you’re ready to fly in yet… right?”

“Hmph,” I grumble and lower my head onto the bed-furs.

Morgana puts the lid on the pot and leans back on her hands, looking around the dimly lit hut. “I don’t like that this house is round,” she says finally. “It’s too much like the Pit.”

I feel a sly grin spread across my face. “We should redo it.”

Morgana’s eyes light up, and she leans forward. “Think we could do this better than Merlin?”

“Bet you we can,” I say, and a laugh bubbles up in my throat.

“Hmmmm…” she stretches out her arms and looks around at the space. “We could keep most of this as a front room--we’ll knock out the back wall last.” she taps the wall with her knuckle. Her eyes shift to me. “But honestly, Thuse, I do think you should learn to hunt. And fly better. This isn’t the biggest priority.”

“I’m getting big,” I say. “When Merlin comes back, he’ll want his bed back.”

“Good point.” she pokes at the fire. “We could use some windows in here, too. There’s a lot we don’t know about construction.”

“You don’t know?”

“I’ve built one house, and it was really more of a shack.” she falls silent. 

“This was… after you left Camelot?”

Morgana nods. Her face has gone still.

“How did you know how to build it?”

“My sister showed me,” she says. “Morgause.” she looks down at her hands and begins tracing the outlines of her fingers. “For a while, Morgause was… everything. She was proud to be my sister. She loved me. She opened up the world of magic to me.” her mouth twists. “I could have allied with the Druids. They didn’t want me either. They just wanted to protect Emrys.” she sighs and puts her head in her hands. “Sorry. My mind is all over the place.”

“You can keep talking,” I say. 

She half-scoffs, half-laughs, and gets to her feet. “There's a lot you don't know about my past, Thuse.” She starts pacing, although there’s only a few feet of room to do so.

I don’t move. I badly want to know more. "Will you tell me?”

She drops down to sit on her bedroll and looks up at the dark ceiling. She takes a breath, then closes her mouth. “I did terrible things,” she whispers. Her eyes level with mine, and she flinches and looks away.

I don’t understand. “Someone… hurt you,” I try. It’s the first memory I have of her: she’s injured, stumbling through the woods.

Morgana cocks her head and frowns at the fire. “When I found out that Uther was my father, I… I wanted his power. He hurt me over and over again with his cruelty to others, when all I wanted to see from him was a shred of mercy, something ‘good’ that I knew could be turned towards me when the time came to tell him the truth. And then I got it--I got his power. And I used it against him.” a strange, twisted smile flutters across her face before it fades. “I used his love for me against him.” 

Then she looks at me, but not like she’s seeing me. Like she’s seeing some terrible future. “Aithusa,” she says, “you’ll never betray me, right?” she sounds panicked, and I get to my feet and circle around the hut to embrace her. She clings to me.

“We don’t do things like that,” I say softly. “We’re new, after the Pit.” I struggle to find the right words, and Morgana senses my struggle.

“You think I don’t have to be afraid anymore, since we’re out of the Pit? I don’t have to fear betrayal?” her voice goes high with tears.

I back up so I can look her in the eyes. “I love you,” I say. “Do you trust me?”

She nods, and then keeps nodding as tears start spilling down her cheeks.

I do my best that night to sleep on her side of the hut. We get tangled up until I’m woken by her pushing my arm off her neck.

“Sorry,” I mutter, moving the arm.

She huffs. “We’re getting a bigger house.”

The next few days are spent in a busy rotation of activities--flying and hunting for me, house planning, clearing out the house site, and then gathering stones.

“I guess we get to explore your mountain after all,” Morgana says as we climb up the hill to find suitable rocks. 

I hum in agreement. The shadow of the mountain is intimidating, especially here at the base. Morgana walks over to one of the boulders and gives it an experimental kick with her heel.

“Is it good rock?” I say, scratching it experimentally.

“No idea,” she says. She frowns at the mountain. “Probably? We should bring down a few every day while we prepare the foundation--and then we’ll have to really haul it to get the walls built. And we’ll need to figure out what kind of mortar to use…” she trails off and approaches a boulder about two feet wide. Her eyes glow, and it starts to float. “Grab one for yourself,” she says, not taking her eyes off of it as she starts floating it down the mountain. “We’ve got a long way to go.”

When Morgana’s not enlisting my help on building the house extension, I begin to explore the mountain. When I’m very still, I can feel its life pulsing through the rock. I slowly befriend it, learning its outside before I start venturing inside. It has caves, as Em--Merlin had said. It’s beautiful and deep, damp and lively. 

“And there are so many caves, all connected,” I chatter to Morgana as we eat dinner. As soon as she hands me my bowl, I start slurping it up.

“Careful, it’s--”

I gulp it down and shoot her a questioning look.

“Hot. I guess the heat doesn’t bother you, though.” She scoops her own bowl, considers the pot, and puts the rest of it down in front of me.

“Nope. Raw meat also doesn’t bother me, you know.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure I want to actually watch you eat an animal raw. And it’s nice to eat together. You were saying, the caves…?”

“Yes! Some look… regular. Some look like they’ve been carved out--a long time ago, I think.”

She blows across her stew. “Are you sure? You haven’t sensed anything?”

I hesitate. It’s difficult to read her expression. “No. Have you?”

“Maybe. It’s hard to say. I’m just worried. I guess I don’t like you being so far from me for so long.”

“Soon I’ll be big enough to carry you.”

She lowers her bowl, cradling it in her hands as she considers me with a smile that seems almost pained. “I’m so proud of you, Aithusa.”

A lump catches in my throat, and I duck my head a little, then take a better look at her. She’s not so skinny as she was before. She has color in her face, even if it’s difficult to see by firelight. Her hair right now is clean and pulled into a long loose braid that drapes over her shoulder. Her hands are steady, and her eyes have a spark of life in them.

“I’m proud of you too,” I say softly. I fiddle with the pot a little, pulling it closer to me. “And I’m so thankful to Merlin.”

She takes a long pause before replying. “So am I.”

I try not to look at her too quickly. “Do you… forgive him?”

She sets her bowl down. “It’s complicated, Aithusa.”

I shrink down a little. “Why?” I ask softly.

“Because--this isn’t the only thing he’s done. He tried to kill me. He lied to me when I needed him. He--he could have helped me and he…” her voice falters. She sighed through her nose. “I still don’t trust him. But I guess I can’t force myself to hate him.” She twists her mouth and hisses through her teeth, shaking her head, then shoots a glance at me. I try to hide my smile.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she grumps, turning away to dig into her stew. “It doesn’t mean I like him. Even as a person.”

I stifle a snicker and am careful not to look at her as I wolf down the rest of the pot of stew.

The next day I’m elated as I fly up to the mountain. The wind catches just right under my wings, and I’m beginning to get the hang of angling my tail to aid me in my flight rather than hinder it. This method uses muscles I hadn’t even realized I had, but it’s more effective, more streamlined. I zoom into my favorite cave opening and scrabble my landing a little. Then I select a piece of shale, holding it in my mouth to scrape directions on tunnel walls as I amble along. Today I want to go just a little farther than I usually do--I swear I can smell water down one of the tunnels, perhaps there’s an underground lake? That would be useful as a water source if I took up residence here…

I push thoughts of the future out of my mind. I still fit in the house, and I’ll fit in the extension, which is coming along just fine. I won’t explore the cave for too long, and get back to Morgana.

Spirits strangely dampened, I plunge into the heart of the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just plugging along! Hope you enjoyed it :)


	8. Help

Morgana turned yet another stone over in the air, eyeing it from several angles before finally slotting into place into the low wall. The house extension was ambitious, especially as she wasn’t sure how long Merlin would really be gone. Part of her wished he would come back soon so he could tell her if she was making some bad mistakes with the house.

Not that she _actually_ wished he would come back. It was--peaceful with him gone. It was nice to be alone. She repeated that to herself. _It’s nice to be alone._

And she was proud of Aithusa for being so willing to break away and explore the mountain. It was another victory over the Pit, that he wasn’t clingy and frightened.

She smiled to herself as she removed the stone, slapped on some mortar, and fit it back into place. He was talking so well, too.

_Do you forgive him?_

Hmph. Maybe he was talking a little _too_ well. She rubbed at her wrist where Merlin had touched her. Merlin had done what she’d asked--he hadn’t commanded Aithusa in his Dragon Speech again. Should she be touched by that display of trust? If it weren’t for Aithusa, Morgana thought she could easily go back to hating Merlin. That idiot boy who… well…

She could see him in her mind’s eye, kneeling in front of her as he confessed his sins. She rested her hands on her house’s stone wall--it wasn’t quite to hip height. Merlin was a good liar. But she wanted to believe that he was telling her the truth--that he regretted it all. And he cared for Aithusa. Really cared. He couldn’t be lying about that, right?

Morgana blinked back tears, looking up at the sky. What if Camelot changed him back? What if the people around him--whoever knew that he had helped her--pressured him back into hating her? Convinced him to come after her with swords? 

“Please,” she whispered at the sky. “I want…”

She faltered, and took another look at the sky. The sun was setting, sending bands of orange and purple across the expanse. But Aithusa wasn’t back.

She straightened, looking wildly around. “Aithusa?” she called. No reply. The trees were strangely silent, or maybe it was the sudden pounding of blood in her ears that drowned everything else out. 

She started running towards the mountain, using magic to fuel her steps. She shouldn’t have pushed herself so hard today, she ached. 

_Aithusa!_ She called out in her mind. She wasn’t even sure she was doing that right. 

_...gana…_

Morgana stumbled, wheezing. How was she still this weak, after months of recovery? The air was darkening. But she was reaching where she thought Aithusa usually went. It was difficult to tell in the gathering dark.

_Aithusa, can you hear me? Where are you?_

_Cave._

She reached the mouth of the cave--was it the right cave?

 _Which cave? Aithusa?_ She projected an image of what she was seeing and waited.

After a long moment, Aithusa responded weakly, _Yes._

Immediately Morgana launched herself in and created a ball of light in her hand.

 _Follow marks,_ Aithusa whispered. When she got to the far side of the entrance, there were scratches down one of the tunnels, and she jogged along, passing her hand along them. The tunnel was surprisingly tall, at least twice Morgana’s height. And it had long scrapes along it, like something had intentionally carved it, but not with a chisel. 

She took a deep breath and picked up the pace. Every now and again she would call out to Aithusa in her mind, and feel a faint pressure from him in reply. And after nearly half an hour, she found him.

The tunnel ended abruptly in what looked like a cave-in. Aithusa’s head and upper body was sticking out of the bottom of it.

“ _Aithusa_!” Morgana screeched. Her panicked voice echoed beyond the cave-in, like there was a much larger space beyond. She fell to her knees by the dragon’s head. Aithusa’s eye opened. A trickle of blood ran around his eye ridge, stark against the gritty whiteness of his scales. “I’m going to get you out of here. Don’t move until I tell you to--can you move?”

“Yes,” he whispered. His bright blue eye looked hazy.

Morgana shifted her focus from her fear and grief to the rocks. It wasn’t a complete cave-in, it looked like there was still an opening at the top of the fallen rocks. 

“Is there a cavern back there? A larger cave?”

“Yeah,” Aithusa whimpered, “water. Monster.”

Morgana sucked in a gasp between her teeth and listened. Yes, she could hear sloshing water. Was it growing louder?

She gritted her teeth and put her hands out, focusing on the stones on top of Aithusa.

“One problem at a time,” she said softly. “On the count of three, I’m going to push the rocks back into the cavern as far as I can. At the same time, I need you to crawl out. Got it?”

In response, Aithusa shifted a little so his arms were underneath him and ready to support his weight. 

“One.” 

Aithusa whimpered as the rocks shifted on top of him.

“Two.”

Something in the cavern made a low growling sound.

“Three!” Morgana shoved the rocks back with all her might. Aithusa cried out and shimmied forward. Once he was free, she released her hold on the rocks, panting with the effort. Her limbs were trembling. The rocks were much lower now, leaving a four-foot opening at the top of the tunnel. Morgana thought she could hear something scraping against dirt on the other side.

“Aithusa,” she began in a low warning tone, but as soon as her voice made a sound, tentacles erupted from the small opening, grabbing at the rocks and hauling them back and out of the way to get to them. Morgana screamed out of surprise.

“Aithusa, run!”

Aithusa made a horrible keening sound and staggered to his feet, limping. Morgana began picking up rocks, hurling them at the tentacles. Aithusa was too slow. There was no way they’d make it.

She struck one, and it recoiled momentarily, but it was clearing the passage. 

“Keep going, Aithusa!” Morgana yelled, placing herself between the dragon and the monster. The tentacle creature hauled itself up, and then she saw eyes, yellowish white and glaring at her. She gritted her teeth and imagined a walnut. 

One of the eyes burst, and there was a screech of pain as the creature recoiled. Morgana ran to Aithusa, who hadn’t gotten far, and got under him so his upper body was leaning heavily on her shoulders, his hind legs and tail dragging behind. He was much heavier than he used to be, and Morgana cried out with the effort, but forced her legs to comply, taking step after heavy step. She didn’t hear sounds of pursuit, but she couldn’t stop. Not until Aithusa was out of this godforsaken cave.

After what felt like hours or minutes, they cleared the tunnel. Morgana’s legs gave out, and her knees hit the stone painfully. No sounds of a creature dragging itself after them. She eased Aithusa onto the ground. Her small globe of light was dim, and she weakly brightened it so she could take a look at Aithusa’s wounds. His wings looked battered. His breathing was shallow, and each quick exhale was a whimper. At least one of his legs was broken. He was covered in a thin layer of greyish dirt. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, his teeth bared.

“Thuse,” Morgana whispered. She wanted to break down crying. What if he didn’t survive this? What if he caught fever? And Morgana’s own strength was spent. A sob came out of her, and she collapsed against the ground, crying weakly into her arms.

But there was no one else, not with Merlin gone. Morgana gasped for breath, fingers weakly clenching at the dirt.

“We both need water,” she muttered to herself. It almost helped to say things out loud. It had rained yesterday--could there be a pool nearby?

There was, about fifteen feet away. Morgana fell to her knees and drank from it, then held some in her mouth and hands so she could deposit into Aithusa’s mouth as much as she could carry. Aithusa’s eyes fluttered.

“Thuse, we’re going to make it. We need to get down to the house, we’ve got some healing herbs there. And cloth.” She knew… well, a _little_ about treating injuries. “You’ll be fine. I’ve got you.”

Aithusa seemed to relax at that, falling completely still. Morgana’s heart dropped, and she shakily held a hand in front of his nose--yes, he was still breathing. Just unconscious, it seemed.

She took a deep breath in, then out. She got another drink. And then, ignoring the trembling in her legs, she bent down and said softly, “I’ll be right back. I have to grab supplies.” And ran down the mountain.


	9. Mend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like the last few chapters have been a bit short, so here's another update for today :) Also I'm on a *roll*, babey

Merlin made good time his first day of walking, but had trouble concentrating on his second day. He got to the meeting point well after dark--some old ruins that fortunately still had some roof attached in one place, because the rain started pouring in the middle of the night. Merlin curled tightly into the one dry corner and shivered, dozing feverishly into the next day. 

“Witch did a number on you, huh?”

Merlin looked up with bleary eyes to see Gwaine standing in front of him with a teasing grin that probably hid some worry, if Merlin could focus enough to look for it.

“You’re… early,” Merlin croaked.

“I ride fast. Also, I took Arthur’s second favorite horse.” Gwaine shot him a grin. “Come on. Let’s get you to Camelot.”

Gwaine had brought an extra horse for Merlin, and they rode in silence as fast as Merlin could go--which wasn’t fast. At some point he was sliding off so often that Gwaine had to tie him on. Gwaine was uncharacteristically quiet while they rode, but while they rested he kept chatting about something that Merlin couldn’t quite follow.

“--which, as you know, is one of my strong points, but  _ she  _ didn’t know that. Yet. Haha!”

Merlin tried to open his mouth to tell Gwaine to shut up, but all he managed was a low moan.

“See? It  _ was  _ funny. I told Elyan that same story and all he did was roll his eyes.”

Merlin couldn’t find the strength to reply.

“You’re going to be fine, Merlin,” Gwaine said earnestly. “We’ll get you back to Camelot…”

Merlin continued in and out of consciousness--riding, laying down, his wrists ached, why was he so hungry? Why did something smell like vomit? Hoofbeats changed from soft forest floor to clattering against cobblestone, it was so loud.

Then he was being dragged off of the horse. Gray stone everywhere. A woman’s voice asking if he’d be alright. Gwen?

Merlin felt himself being dropped into a cot. There was a familiar smell in the air, of herbs and wood and chemicals. He wanted to relax--it smelled of home. But he couldn’t. He’d left someone behind. There was somewhere else he was supposed to be, wasn’t there…?

Merlin’s throat was parched and scratchy when he awoke. Daylight slanted through the windows… what time of day was it? He’d been away for so long, he no longer knew by the fall of shadows in Gaius’s laboratory what time it was.

Merlin shifted his head, and a slightly damp cloth slid off of his forehead. “Gaius?” he said weakly. He felt strangely weak all over. Morgana’s name came to his lips, but he held it back and blinked, bringing the room into focus. The place looked distinctly different, although the position of the little loft-mezzanine, Merlin’s old room, and many of the reference materials were normal. It was all just, rearranged. The Sick Cot Merlin was currently tucked into was much closer to the door, sort of set apart in a special area. The remainder of the room was kept organized and neat, with more baskets and boxes than usual keeping things contained.

He sat up for a better look, and immediately got a wave of light-headedness.

That’s when the door opened and a woman walked in. Her underdress was a simple white longsleeve, but her overdress was a pale blue, embroidered. She kept her hair up, and her brown eyes fell on Merlin.

“Oh, you’re up.” Her mouth tightened. “You could’ve done that a little earlier, I’ve just run into the queen and told her you were still out.”

Merlin blinked at her. “Who’reyoo?”

“Blanche, the court physician.”

“No, thass Gaius.”

"I think you'll find it's me, hun." She set down the basket she'd been carrying. "Gaius was made acting magical liaison. I was a doctor here in Camelot and applied for his vacant position. With him and Arthur gone to try to make amends with the druids, I'm afraid I'm the only one around to thank for saving your life."

Merlin gaped at her. She waited a beat, raised her eyebrows.

"Amends… with the druids?" He managed.

She sighed. "You're welcome." She walked over and began checking him, touching his forehead and taking his pulse. "If you're feeling well enough and you're very good, I'll see if the Queen can meet with you tomorrow morning, she'll have answers for you. Or one of the knights will, I suppose. In any case, I'll send for food and a bath. Just take it easy." She stood.

"How long was I out?"

She made a note on a parchment. "Four days." She strode out the door, ignoring Merlin as he started to call out to her to wait.

Merlin made an annoyed noise and, aching all over, got out of bed.

\--

_ Dear Gwenivere, _

_ The peace talks with the druids continue I think for the better. I constantly worry about being away from Camelot and I can tell the druids are worried about me being here, but I think we're beginning to understand one another. Their access to magic only adds a facet to their lives--it doesn't take anything away from their humanity and needs as people. This should have been obvious to me sooner. _

_ My father was wrong about, and lied about, many things. Today I finally asked the leader, Iseldir, about the origin of my birth. They confirmed what Morgause once revealed to me. My father ignored the dangers of magic and traded my mother's life for mine. I wish you were here with me to help me bear this news. _

_ I have just received your letter about Merlin. Iseldir is wary of Morgana, as we all are. Please keep in mind that Morgana may have poisoned Merlin's mind against us. It makes me nervous to know that he returned to Camelot in such bad condition. Send me an update as soon as his condition changes. And let him know that if his business with Morgana is concluded, I need him here. Assuming, of course, he's still on our side. I have a feeling that the Druids know more about him than they’re letting on. _

_ These are challenging times, and the greatest challenge is being away from you.  _

_ All my love, _

_ Arthur _

Gwenivere breathed a sigh and set the letter down. It had come with a more formal report for her on the peace talks. Overall, it seemed to be going well--what Arthur hadn't expressed in his letter was the obvious animosity many of the druids understandably held against Camelot for the decades of wrongdoings. 

A knock came on the bedroom door, and Gwen straightened and scooted back slightly from the table. "Who is it?"

"Blanchefleur, your Majesty."

"Come in." 

The door swung open, and the young court physician stepped in. She had a presence about her that Gwen almost envied--not quite the arrogance of some of the knights, but a confidence and a way of getting straight to the point that either rubbed people the wrong way or made them trust her even more.

Blanche curtsied. "Merlin's fever has broken, your Majesty, and he's mending quickly."

Gwen got to her feet immediately, ready to go to him, but she paused and looked at the letter. Arthur had only just warned her to be careful. She folded her hands in front of herself.

"Thank you, Blanche. How soon do you think he'll be well enough to report to the Round Table?"

"As early as tomorrow morning, I believe he is still quite weak. Shall I…?"

"Yes, have him report tomorrow morning. And… I know this is out of your way, but Sir Percival is Arthur's messenger and he's just returned for the next day or so. If you happen to see him, could you have him inform the other present knights of the meeting?"

Blanche's cheeks reddened ever so slightly, and her lips thinned as though fighting back a smile. "Yes, my lady. Of course. Thank you. I mean," the blush deepened, "let me know if you need any other assistance within my capacity." With a quick curtsey and a red face, Blanche turned heel and strode out the door.

\--

Merlin ran his fingers through his hair, still damp from a bath, and added to his list of things to collect from Camelot before he headed back.

_ Seeds. _

_ More clothes _

_ Formal dress for M? _

_ Fresh food _

_ Book on medicine? _

_ Garden tools _

Well, they had a  _ few  _ tools that could be used for gardening. Merlin rested his hands on the table and looked through the window at the sliver of sky he could see above the gray castle walls. The sun was just beginning to set.

Four days--that made it over a week since he’d left. Surely they were safe. And he was feeling much better already, although extremely hungry. Maybe he should go to the kitchens? Had Arthur told anyone about his powers? 

Someone knocked on the door. Merlin cleared his throat. “Come in?” he said.

The door swung open, and Gwaine strode in with a grin and a small platter of food. “That sounded more like a question. Here, I brought food.”

Merlin sighed with relief, pushing the image of a small hut in a dangerous forest out of his mind.

“Gwaine. You wouldn’t believe how long it’s been since I’ve had a proper meal.” He sat down at the table.

“Camelot  _ does  _ have the best food.” Gwaine slid into the bench across from Merlin. “Except for the pies. Have you noticed that the pies are consistently sub-par?”

“It’s the chef,” Merlin said through a mouthful of chicken, “she refuses to take criticism.”

“I can believe that.” Gwaine dug into his own plate. “So, how’s it going with the witch?”

Merlin sighed. “Morgana. It’s hard to say. When I got sick she gave me my youth potion thinking it was medicine.”

Gwaine paused. “Ah.”

“Yep. So on the bright side, she cared enough about me to give me medicine. But now she hates me because of, you know, tricking her, constantly thwarting her plans--”

“--And consistently being better than her in every way. Absolutely I can see why she’d be angry.” 

Merlin laughed a little, shaking his head. “The dragon, though, he’s much better. I can tell Morgana cares for him a lot.” he sat back. “I heard Sarrum used Morgana’s love for Aithusa against her, used it to catch them both. I just wish I could figure out how to reverse that--help them make each other better, and happier.”

Gwaine stared at him.

Merlin blushed. “What?” he muttered, digging back into his food.

“That’s so noble, Merlin.” he frowned and looked away, glaring at something Merlin couldn’t see. “But honestly? I wouldn’t get your hopes up too much for her. That brief moment when she was Queen of Camelot, she used her power to oppress. A good person doesn’t do that.”

Merlin watched his face. Gaius had told him what Morgana had done--thrown him and Gwaine and Gwen into a dungeon and forced Gwaine to fight for their food. It was only because Merlin had continued being Gaius’s assistant that he knew Gwaine still had pain from injuries sustained during that time.

“People can change,” Merlin said quietly. “You weren’t here when she was--she was good. Fear changed her. Don’t you think love could change her back?”

Gwaine regarded him, his eyes dark. “I don’t know if I could trust her.”

“But could you forgive her?”

Gwaine hesitated. “I don’t--”

_ AITHUSA!  _

Merlin shot to his feet, heart suddenly racing. “Morgana?” he called, spinning to try to find the source of the voice. But no--it had been in his head.

“Merlin, what is it?” Gwaine stood up as well.

“I heard her--she’s in trouble. Aithusa’s in trouble. I don’t know.” Merlin grabbed his boots and pulled them on, hopping. “I need to go.”

“Merlin, it’s a four-day journey. How are you going to help her?”

Merlin swung his coat over his arms. “I have to use the dragon.”

“You  _ just  _ said he’s in trouble.”

“No, the, the big one. Kilgarrah.” Merlin gritted his teeth and looked out at the dark sky. “He’s not going to be happy about this.” 


	10. Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyy, happy holidays, everyone.

Morgana bit back tears as she worked on healing Aithusa. She didn’t know how to set a bone properly! What if he turned out mangled, or crippled, and it was her fault for not knowing a damn thing--

She pressed a forearm against her eyes and rubbed, hard. Fear wouldn’t help Aithusa right now. She just had to make sure he stopped bleeding, and treat the worst of his injuries. Then in the morning she could come up with the next step of a plan.

Aithusa stirred, and she began singing, a bit breathlessly.

_ Dinogad’s smock, speckled and dotted, _

_ I made it for him from marten’s skins. _

_ Whistling and singing, _

_ We sing with our eight chained servants. _

_ When your father went a-hunting, _

_ High on the mountainside, _

_ He’d bring back stags and bucks and wild boars... _

Finally, she’d ripped up enough of Emrys’s old clothes to stop any bleeding. Aithusa’s leg was set as well as she could get it. His wings seemed to be okay, at least no bones were sticking out of the skin. 

Exhausted, she curled up next to his head and passed out.

She awoke to the sound of a roar. Panicked, she shot to her feet and looked to the back of the cave. Very early morning light showed her that nothing was crawling after them--the roar had come from outside.

Aithusa stirred, and Morgana knelt to kiss his forehead. “Lie still,” she said softly. She crept out the front of the cave, just in time to see a huge dark green dragon swoop overhead. It was circling away from her.

“Kilgarrah!” She yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth. The dragon turned, surprisingly agile for its size, and headed straight towards her, its huge golden eyes glaring at her. And now she could see Merlin on its back.

The dragon landed and let Merlin slide down. When it spoke, its voice seemed to echo around itself--in her head, in the clearing, through the cave.

“I can see why you kept this a secret, Merlin. If Aithusa’s life were not at stake, I would kill the witch myself.”

Merlin ignored him and ran to Morgana, stumbling a little. “I heard you call. Where is he?”

Morgana, speechless, pointed into the cave and followed after him. Merlin fell to his knees by Aithusa’s head, gingerly touching the makeshift wrappings.

“Can you help him?” Morgana sobbed out. “Merlin, I don’t know what to do--”

“You know I’m not a physician,” he said through gritted teeth. He stood, his face grim, and didn’t meet her eyes as he strode back out of the cave.

“Can  _ you  _ help him?” he said contemptuously. He seemed to widen his stance, as though ready to fight a dragon two hundred times his size.

Kilgarrah raised his chin slightly and glared down his nose.

“Aithusa’s association with the witch has only brought him pain and grief. In exchange for my help, I want to re-take him into my care.”

Merlin took an angry step forward, and his voice turned hoarse as he yelled. “You don’t get to decide that! You don’t know what Morgana means to him! Either you help him now, or I will send you away so that you never see him for as long as I draw breath!”

Kilgarrah gave a short roar of defiance, and surged forward towards the mouth of the cave. Morgana stood her ground, unsure of whether to protect Aithusa or run, until Merlin ran over, grabbed her arm, and pulled her out of the way so Kilgarrah could blow a hot breath across Aithusa’s body. The meager wrappings blew away, and Aithusa yelped, staggering to his feet as he was consumed briefly by golden light--not flame, but magic that seemed to pour out of Kilgarrah’s eyes and maw.

Kilgarrah panted, and looked towards Merlin and Morgana. He snarled, turned, and bounded before taking off into the sky.

Merlin sighed, dropping his hands from Morgana’s upper arms where she hadn’t even realized he’d been gripping. Then he jogged over to Aithusa, and Morgana quickly followed.

His wounds had closed. The leg bone Morgana had tried to set was properly straight again, although Aithusa seemed to favor it, not quite letting his foot touch the ground. 

"Can you move? Are you okay?" Merlin asked softly, almost tenderly.

Aithusa moved his joints and wings experimentally and nodded. Merlin sighed with relief and hung his head, covering his face with a hand. Aithusa pressed his cheek against Merlin's, then looked at Morgana, who hesitantly knelt and stroked Aithusa's neck, a little distance from Merlin. She felt strange and disoriented after her near-sleepless night, and that exchange with Merlin and Kilgarrah…

"What happened?" Merlin said, and took a shaky breath. He didn't look at her.

Morgana's blood ran cold. He was angry. Of course he was. She tried to keep her voice steady. "Aithusa was exploring the caves here. But something attacked him, some sort of monster. When he didn't come home, I came after him and found him injured." She paused. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have let him go in there--"

Merlin stood abruptly and paced away from her. "And you're okay?" His voice cracked. "It didn't attack you?"

"While we were leaving it tried. I think it didn’t want to get too far away from the water." 

Still turned away, he nodded. Morgana hugged herself, her hands shaking. She got to her feet. "Thank you," she choked. "I know you're angry and I'm sorry. But thank you."

He finally turned. His eyes were red. "I'm not angry with you or Aithusa. I just…" he looked away for a moment and brushed at his cheek, "I didn't want to make an enemy of Kilgarrah." He shrugged helplessly. "I don't know if I can ask for his help ever again, and…"

Morgana stepped forward and impulsively hugged him. She let go quickly, before he could push her away. He looked enormously surprised, and a confused half-smile went across his face.

"You've known him a long time, right?" Morgana said.

He nodded.

"Then I believe you can work through this. If you can forgive him for attacking Camelot, surely he can forgive you for this?"

Merlin went quiet, watching her face with a frown. His eyes were soft, though, and seemed to be searching through her. He'd looked at her like this sometimes as an old man, but it felt different knowing that this was  _ Merlin.  _

She looked away towards Aithusa, who was glancing between them, head cocked slightly.

"We should probably splint his leg, I don't think it was healed all the way," she said quickly. She bent down and rubbed at some dry blood on the dragon's forehead. "And get him cleaned up."

"You too, you're a mess," Merlin said. 

She shot him a dry look. "I can't imagine why."

He shrugged innocently. "Rough week, I suppose? Because I wasn't here, I mean."

"You wish. We were actually getting things done, without your lazy bones getting in the way." She retrieved the discarded splint and knelt to re-do it.

Merlin glanced significantly at the cave. "Mm-hm."

"Oh, shut up. Thuse, give me your leg."

Merlin swiftly knelt to help. Immediately, Morgana started to overthink the functions of tying a knot. Should she avoid touching Merlin's hands?

"Do you actually know how to make a splint?" Merlin asked after a beat.

"Can't be that hard if you can do it."

"No, we need to keep the joint straight…" with a bit of a struggle, they got the splint made, and helped Aithusa limp toward the stream. Merlin then cleaned him up while Morgana went back to the hut to grab a change of clothes. 

The earth was sunny and fresh after last night’s rain, and it glinted into her eyes almost painfully even as the sun didn’t quite produce enough warmth to help her recover from that freezing night. 

When she got to the stream, Merlin was sitting cross-legged in front of Aithusa, his jacket off and sleeves rolled up. Most of his front was wet. He was using a reddish cloth to carefully rub at Aithusa’s eye ridges. The rest of the dragon was pristine and glinting slightly from water.

“Nn.” Morgana winced at the sun glinting off his bright white scales.

Merlin shot her a grin. “Creature of the dark, or naturally sensitive eyes?”

“We’ll just say both,” Morgana said tiredly. She was starting to get a headache. She shaded her eyes, squinting. “My turn yet?”

Merlin slapped his knees and got to his feet. “Our lady needs some a- _ lone  _ time, Thuse. Ready for a nap?

Aithusa grunted in agreement and limped after Merlin. As he walked past, Merlin met her eyes for a moment, looking like he wanted to say something, but he just gave her a tight smile and walked into the trees. Morgana watched them for a moment. She hadn’t heard Aithusa vocally say anything since yesterday. But at least his eyes were bright, and he had the energy to walk. 

It was strangely familiar, washing in this stream after an ordeal. She didn’t feel as grimy and weak as she had after the Pit and a week of walking in the snow in the dead of winter. And the stream flowed more heavily with the melting run-off from the mountain. It was biting, refreshing, numbing. 

She wished it would numb her guilt. It’s not like she could blame Aithusa--he was basically still a child, eager to explore. She should have gone with him at least a few times so they could find dangers like this. Even if that creature hadn’t been there, cave-ins were a real possibility. 

Morgana examined her slightly bruised hands and forearms. Her right hand had a shallow, skinned cut on the heel of the palm. There were so many dangers out there. There was no way Morgana could protect Aithusa from all of them. Or even any of them.

_ Aithusa’s association with the witch has only brought him pain and grief…  _

A sob rose up in her throat, and suddenly blinded by tears, she quickly finished washing, dried off, and put on her clean clothes, teeth chattering and throat constricting the whole time. She sat by the water and shakily braided her hair, crying--partially as an effort to get all her tears out before she went back to the hut to face the other two. She then quickly rinsed out her dirty clothes and wrung them out before she got to her feet and breathed in the freezing air. The sun disappeared behind a cloud. The cold was starting to get into her bones, and had frozen out her tears. 

She walked quickly through the little grove of trees to the hut. A small column of smoke rose from the little chimney that stuck out of the top of the thatched roof. The walk had started to warm her, so she walked the perimeter of her house expansion. Knowing that Merlin was already back made it look extremely ambitious. If the hut was already ten feet in diameter, that would make the whole front of the house about thirty feet in diameter, and lengthwise it was nearly that length again. The rain had swamped up the center a little. Perhaps she should have constructed the roof  _ first… _ ?

Calculations spinning through her mind, Morgana finally walked into the hut. Aithusa was spread-eagled asleep on Merlin’s usual side of the hut, and Merlin sat on hers, eating a bowl of what smelled like oatmeal and honey.

“Nn, you’re back,” he said around a mouthful of oatmeal. He furrowed his eyebrows, covering his mouth slightly as he breathed through his mouth to try to cool down his mouthful. “Ha’ some food.”

Morgana rolled her eyes and took a seat by the door, then ladled herself a small bowl. “I’m almost relieved to see your manners haven’t changed, Merlin, even though you’re a gross  _ young  _ man instead of an old one.”

He swallowed the scorching mouthful, wincing. “Part of my charm,” he rasped. 

Aithusa made a sound that was almost like a snort-chuckle, but when Morgana shot him a look he seemed to be sleeping. She stirred her oatmeal, making a point of letting it cool down before she tried to eat it, even though she was starving.

“You…” she cleared her throat. “You said you heard me call. What did you mean?”

Merlin stopped trying to eat his scorching oatmeal and looked up at her. “Last night, I heard you scream Aithusa’s name. In my head, I mean. I knew if I tried to take a horse it would take days, and I had no idea if… if I would even find you two alive, or what happened. So that’s why I asked Kilgarrah to take me.”

“I see.”

He blew across his oatmeal, watching her with raised eyebrows.

Morgana lowered her own bowl. “Do you think… the dragon was right? That Aithusa would be better off with him?”

Merlin snorted a little. “I doubt it. I don’t even know what Kilgarrah’s up to. Probably hiding, mostly.”

“Seriously, Merlin.”

Merlin set his bowl down and looked up at her. “Honestly, there’s not an easy answer to that question. Even though I’m a dragonlord, there’s not a lot that I actually know about dragons, and there are things that only Kilgarrah could teach him. And maybe there are things that only Kilgarrah could protect him from. But…” He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms as he glared at the ceiling. “He’s so bitter. He was the last of his kind for so long, and imprisoned for so long, with no one else to care for. I think it’s made him selfish.”

Morgana ran her thumb along the edge of the bowl. “Then… he’s a little like me. Except that I finally found someone to care for.” She cocked her head. “How did you get to know him? You said he manipulated you, I think.”

Merlin blew out an audible breath. “Soon after I first came to Camelot, he called out to me. I went to him for advice, and he kept telling me all these things about my great destiny--but sometimes he asked me to do things I could hardly bear. He wanted me to let Mordred die.” He tugged at his sleeves as though uncomfortable in his own skin. “He said… you and Mordred would be the downfall of Camelot. That Mordred was destined to kill Arthur. So when Morgause cast that spell to make the castle fall asleep, and you were the center of it--”

“That’s why you poisoned me.” Morgana finished. “Because you believed him.”

Merlin finally met her gaze. He nodded, jaw tensing. “There are other times when he misled me. But he’s also helped me. He’s given me purpose, and I…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “It’s complicated.”

“I understand,” Morgana said softly. “You must have felt connected to him, and he helped you, and… then you turned out to be kin, right?”

“You could say that.” his expression cleared, and he smiled a little. “I get the feeling you and Morgause had a less rocky relationship though…?”

Morgana fell silent. It wasn’t as though Morgause had been perfect. She’d been ruthless, and at the time, Morgana had loved that about her. “She… was never afraid to do what had to be done. What she believed should be done. When she found out I was Uther’s daughter, she was happy--she--” Morgana turned away. “Everything from that point on was to get me on Camelot’s throne. She did so much for me, and I…” she rubbed at the sore spot on her hand. “Maybe I failed her? Maybe my heart wasn’t in it enough, or I wanted it for the wrong reasons?”

“Why do you think you failed her?”

Morgana rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m not queen of Camelot, am I?”

“That can't be all you were worth to her. She loved you. Surely… she would just want you to be happy?"

She sighed. "Like you said. It's complicated."

Merlin straightened suddenly and looked at her. Morgana unconsciously mimicked him, straightening and raising her eyebrows. "What?"

"It's Arthur. I've just remembered I wanted to tell you." He leaned forward. "Arthur's bringing magic back to Camelot."

Morgana stared, then wrinkled her nose. "There's no way."

"Before I left to rescue you, he--well, he didn't believe I could do it, so I ended up telling him everything, and he was," he grimaced, "pretty angry. But I didn't even see him while I was in Camelot this past week because he was meeting with the Druids."

Morgana's brain stuttered. She set her bowl down, got up, and walked out the door.

Arthur was--he was meeting with--

He was remaking Camelot? Taking steps to make it a safe place for those who had magic?

It felt like a stormcloud inside of Morgana had finally stopped building up, and was now releasing rain. She walked to the edge of the grove that overlooked their valley and looked up at the clouding sky.

She hadn't done her braid tightly enough. It came loose in a sudden gust of wind.

"Morgana?" That was Merlin's voice behind her. She waited a long moment before she turned.

"I can't go back, can I?" She said. Her voice cracked. "Even if it's safe for the druids, it could never be safe for me. I killed… Merlin, I killed innocent people…" she covered her mouth, trying to keep in a cry of grief. She fell to her knees and clutched at the damp cold ground. She could almost see them--like the visions she'd sent Uther, and she'd taken their lives for no reason but revenge, just like Uther had. 

Merlin knelt in front of her, and held out a hand. She grasped it, allowing him to support her weight as she doubled over, sobbing, her forehead not quite touching the earth. After a moment he pulled her up to hold her, and she grasped his arm and the front of his shirt while the wind howled around them, covering her cries.

He awkwardly rubbed her back, and she pressed her forehead against his shoulder and screamed. Immediately, thunder clattered in the air around them, and rain poured for a moment before easing to a drizzle. 

"I can't," she sobbed, "go back. It was my home, and I couldn't take care of it. Arthur is doing what I couldn't--he's the one they want, not me, and for good reason." She pushed away and looked up at Merlin. Rain had soaked his hair, and he blinked droplets out of his eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry." Weakly she started to pull away, or collapse again, but this time Merlin pulled her into a tight hug.

"I'm sorry too," he said over the rain. "I'm so sorry, Morgana." 

She buried her face into the crook of his neck and wrapped her arms around him in response, clutching somewhere around his waist and shoulder blades while his hands gripped her back and the back of her head.

How long had it been since she'd last been held? She melted against him, and slowly, the rain eased away with her tears. She could feel his heartbeat and shuddering breaths. Every part of her was cold except where he touched.

Camelot. She yearned for it--for its halls, comforts, for the people there who at one point loved her, even if they didn’t listen to her. If she was any other person with magic, she could someday live there again, and it would be even more of a home. She could see it in her mind’s eye almost like a vision: druid children playing in the streets, feasts lit up by magical displays. Protections around the walls that would make it the safest place in Albion. 

But she couldn’t be part of it.

Morgana gave an uneven sigh and pulled away. For a moment the ache in her chest grew worse, until it was replaced with sudden and intense embarrassment. She'd just--held onto Merlin while she cried??  _ Merlin???  _

Her eyes darted up to his face, still quite close. His eyes were full of concern, his hands still resting on her arms, but he seemed to immediately sense her shift in mood, and he pulled back, blushing. He got to his feet and held out a hand for her to take. She took it--it would be more embarrassing  _ not _ to--but dropped it as soon as she was on her feet. His clothes were soaked from the rain, almost defining--did Merlin have  _ muscles _ now?!

"Look," he said earnestly, "nothing is impossible."

_ Had he read her mind?! _ She stared at him, trying to figure out what he was talking about and not look anywhere but his face.

"If Arthur forgave you,” he continued, “the people would follow his lead. I do think you could go back to Camelot someday."

Oh. Of course. She was being completely ridiculous. Camelot. She looked away, the ache returning in her chest. "My place is here, for now," she said. "I just want to help Aithusa. But… thank you.” She glanced at him, not quite able to smile. A glint of white in the trees caught her eye. Aithusa was crouching there, watching them with obvious worry. She walked past Merlin, touching his arm on the way, and leaned down to stroke Aithusa’s head. Then she knelt and pulled him into her arms. He was getting so big.

“I’m okay, ‘Thuse,” she said against his cold, slippery neck. “We’re okay.” 

He made a low, sad note. “Okay,” he said.

Aside from that one cold clap of rain, the day was sunny and almost warm. Merlin was impressed with how far she’d gotten on the wall, but pointed out that she’d probably want bigger cornerstones, for stability. She grumped good-naturedly at that, and they took it easy, wandering separately in various tasks and coming back together for lunch and dinner. Aithusa didn’t stray far from the cottage, but waited like a puppy for them to pass by and talk to him. 

It all felt strangely comfortable to Morgana. The winter had been more difficult than she'd care to admit, being cooped up in the little hut with Emrys and a restless young dragon. It had been much better than the Pit, obviously, but she began to love the freedom that Spring offered, how she could walk through the woods and be with the trees and Aithusa and now, Merlin. 

There was, however, some discomfort after dinner. Merlin was spreading out his bedroll on  _ her _ side of the hut.

Morgana brought in the cleaned cooking pot, hung it up by the door, and frowned at Merlin. 

"What are you doing?"

Merlin pointed at Aithusa, who was taking up most of Merlin's side, almost more with his splinted leg sticking awkwardly out. 

"Merlin, this is  _ my _ side."

He rolled his eyes. "Technically I built the house--"

" _ Hut,"  _ Morgana cut in.

"Sure, hut--so it's all my side. You were sharing with Aithusa before, and I'm pretty sure I have fewer appendages than he does. It won't even be a tight fit. Look," he pulled his bedroll over to the wall, "I'll sleep next to the wall, which is the colder side. You get to be next to the hearth with the warming stone."

She stood there, glaring.

He glared back for a moment, then shrugged and wrapped himself up in his bedroll before turning resolutely to the wall. "You can always camp outside," he said.

Morgana had just been outside. It was freezing out there.

"Fine," she spat. She shook out her bedroll, wrapped up, and scooted as far from him as possible. "But I draw the line at cuddling."

Merlin snorted. "I dunno, you seemed kinda into it earlier."

She twisted around and punched him in the shoulder.

"Ow! Sorry, too soon. Ow. Don't let anybody tell you you have a bad arm."

"The only one who'd dare would be Arthur," Morgana said, and an immediate stab of homesickness swept over her.

"Yeah, he's a bit of a prat that way."

She smiled at that. "He's so insufferable sometimes, isn't he?"

"Yeah, I don't know why, but I thought being married would give him a better personality. Absolutely nothing's changed on that front."

They quietly traded jokes at Arthur's expense, until Morgana made one last joke and got a soft snore in response. 

"Mer…?" She turned over to find that at some point he had turned away from the wall and towards her. In the dim warm light of the warming stone he looked cozy, wrapped up in his bedroll and fast asleep. He was closer than she was expecting. She found herself reaching out to test the distance--yes, she could comfortably reach his cheek. But her hand hovered over his skin, not quite making contact.

A flash of a memory went through her head: Merlin strung up to the ceiling of her hovel. She'd implanted a fomorah into the back of his neck. Used him as a tool, having no idea what he actually was. And she'd reached out, just like this, and touched his face. 

She slowly retracted her hand and tucked it against her stomach, where a strange ache was growing. She'd done so many things worth regretting. And she'd hurt Merlin, just like she'd hurt Camelot. How could she have foreseen this, this guilt? 

She turned onto her back and looked over to Aithusa. If they'd been any longer in that pit, the dragon would've grown deformed. Tears came to Morgana's eyes. Despite all she'd done to Merlin, to Arthur, to Camelot, he'd saved them. It was a debt she couldn't ignore. And a gratitude that built in her chest like a compelling storm.

Her hands curled into fists. Gratitude was all this was, right? And respect. And, she hoped, friendship. She closed her eyes. If Merlin really was her friend and not just her savior, he made for a powerful ally. And that's all he could be. An ally and a friend. She couldn't afford to risk anything--anything more  _ romantic. _

She took a deep breath and looked over at Merlin one more time. She traced the lines of his face, sort of blurry in the dim lighting. She almost wished she could see the blue of his eyes, but then he'd be  _ looking  _ at her like he had for most of the day. Anxious, and something else she couldn't figure out. Even now his brows were slightly furrowed. Maybe he could feel her eyes on him, trying to memorize him in this small moment so she could bottle it up and tuck it away in a remote corner of her heart. 

Morgana closed her eyes and imagined those feelings turning into a little crystal. It was apt--feelings like that could stab if you weren't careful. Then she put the crystal in a box and filed it away. 

Then, finally, she slept.


	11. Deals

I have visions the first night that Merlin is back. He is standing with me and Morgana in our valley, and in the distance there is fire. It grows closer, and I grow more panicked, because Merlin won't move. He just watches the fire, until it engulfs him and I wake with fear.

_ I have to stay,  _ he keeps saying.  _ I promised. _

When I fall back asleep, Kilgarrah is standing in front of me, although in this dream-world we're the same size.

"Like many dragons before you, you have the gift of foresight, young one," he says. "Will you use it to change what is to come? Or will you allow yourself to only be acted upon?"

I gape at him. He gives me a knowing look, almost a smirk, and takes off into the sky. When he flies away I see a castle that I haven't seen before, but I know is Camelot. Kilgarrah flies once around it, but when he banks his scales turn white so they look like mine.

I wake again and struggle to stand up. The hut is stuffy. With some maneuvering I manage to turn around without stepping on anyone, and get out the door.

The stars are exceptionally bright. With a few flaps of my wings I'm rocketing towards them, and then soaring over a moonlit valley.

_ Kilgarrah,  _ I call out in my heart and mind,  _ where are you? _

Like an extra heartbeat, I can feel where he is. He didn't go far, only a few mountains over. But it's my first time flying this far, and by the time I find the cave he's taken shelter in, I'm wheezing with exertion. I'd also forgotten during my flight that my leg is in a splint and I fudge the landing, face-planting in the dirt before scrambling to my feet and limping towards where I can feel him.

And then I can hear him too, breathing slow and deep with just a bit of a wheeze.

"Kilgarrah," I say softly, and his dark shape stirs in the depths of the cave.

"Aithusa. The light of the sun. To what do I owe this great pleasure?"

"I was… I'm…" why don't I have enough words? "Thank you," I finally say, "for healing me."

"Mmm, I hardly had a choice in the matter.  _ You _ at least seem to be on Merlin's good side."

I grit my teeth a little.  _ Bitter, _ Merlin had called him. "Are you okay?"

He shifts again, and now I can see the glow of his two yellow eyes. "I am only old. I do not have many more great feats in me. Merlin believes I will live forever-- I have seen the rise and fall of many men. Dragons look invincible to humans, but we are not. Tell me, do you truly wish to stay with the witch, who cannot protect you?"

I look long and hard at Kilgarrah's shadowed face.  _ Bitter, bitter. _

"You've got it wrong," I say. "I'm the one who needs to protect Morgana. It's  _ my  _ fault we were caught and pitted. And mine that I got hurt. I need to learn to be stronger and wiser, so I can help her and Merlin rebuild Camelot." I stop myself. I hadn't even thought those words until they came out of my mouth, but when I did I knew they were true.

"Morgana will  _ break  _ Camelot," he hisses, "I have foreseen it."

I bristle, raising my wings to look bigger. "I will change that." 

He gets to his feet, rising to my challenge. Unlike in my dream, he's enormous and intimidating. I press my wings back down, trying not to cower.

"You want to learn wisdom?" He steps forward, and I back up. "Fine. Learn this lesson while you are young: the future is difficult to change because you cannot change the deepest desires of a blackened heart. Morgana's fear and hatred cannot be cured by one kind act."

"Then it will be cured by a thousand!" I stomp my foot to keep myself from backing up any further. "Help me, brother, last of my kind. Please."

We've stepped out of the cave, and the cool blue of morning sheds light on Kilgarrah's face. He regards me, watching my face. Finally, he turns away, and goes back into the cave. I deflate, then steel myself and prepare to use more words.

Before I can, he speaks. "I will consider it," he says. "I must recover. But your resolve is impressive, young dragon. I will come to you when I am ready."

My heart leaps in my chest, and I do a celebratory hop--clumsily, due to my leg-- and then flap my wings hard to launch into the dark sky. 

I'd almost forgotten how tired I was. My limbs are shaking when I get home. Merlin and Morgana are still asleep when I creep into the hut. He's on his back, snoring, and she's curled up into his side like how she'd sleep next to me, wrapped up like a caterpillar in her bedroll. I grin and quietly push the door closed, then curl up for a second sleep.

The next few days are boring compared to the terrifying excitement of being attacked, saved, and magically healed. My leg aches when I try to move it too much, as if letting me know the break isn't all the way mended. I do my best to heal it myself, but it doesn’t feel as effective as when I healed Merlin or Morgana.

At the end of the second day I finally get the courage to tell Merlin and Morgana about my conversation with Kilgarrah--figuring it wouldn’t be great if he showed up without me telling them.

They stare at me in twin expressions of surprise, and then worry as they look at each other.

“What did he mean, ‘foresight’?” Morgana asks, leaning forward. The warming stone dimly illuminates her pale face. “Have you been having dreams, Thuse?”

I hesitate. I can still see flames in my mind’s eye. “A… little. I think, um…”

Merlin starts to say something, but Morgana shushes him, watching me intently.

“I think Merlin needs to go back to Camelot. He shouldn’t stay here.”

They both sigh simultaneously, and then look at each other with confusion. 

“Well, I don’t know if I--” Merlin starts.

“No, you should,” Morgana interrupts, “If Kilgarrah’s around, Aithusa and I will be well-protected.” She shifts a little to better face him. “You did what you came to do, Merlin. You rescued us. We’re safe. And I…” she swallows, glancing away. “I’m willing to try it your way. Arthur’s way. With Camelot.” she nervously turns her body away and straightens the corner of a bedroll.

Merlin stares at her in a mixture of wonder and suppressed happiness that nearly makes me laugh, but Morgana misses the expression when he turns back to me. 

“Thank you for talking to him,” he says. “You’ve grown. I’m proud of you, Aithusa.”

I straighten and do my best Kilgarrah impression. “And I’ll miss you, young warlock.”

Merlin chokes, and then laughs, and Morgana and I join in, maybe laughing a little too hard--we’re going to miss him, I realize, more than Morgana will ever admit.

The next day my leg feels much better than it did, and I circle over our valley as I think and wonder. What is Camelot  _ like?  _ Full of people, I suppose. People who don’t like magic. Has a castle. I’ll have to ask Morgana for details. I have so much to learn. 

The sky is a good place to think, but I also find that I can hear things far below--baby deer following their mothers, small birds calling to each other in patterns that almost make sense, and the hoofbeats of horses.

Horse? I bank on my wings toward the mountain, away from the sound, and listen carefully. Yes--two of them. I try not to panic. Did they see me? Are they enemies or allies? Scouts for Sarrum?

I dive into our grove and come to a skidding halt in our backyard where Merlin and Morgana are puzzling over the house expansion.

“Horses,” I say, “Riders coming.”

Merlin drops the boulder he had suspended in the air.

“Careful!” Morgana snaps, sidestepping it.

“You two should hide,” Merlin says. “I’ll go see who it is.”

“Alone?” Morgana says. “If it’s one of Sarrum’s men--”

“--Then we’ll have to figure out a place to bury him. It might just be a traveler.”

Morgana glares at him, then nods and turns on her heel to go into the hut. “Come on, Aithusa.”

I slink after her. Merlin asks me what direction I heard the rider, and strides away to disappear into the greening trees.

Morgana goes into the hut and starts feverishly packing the backpack and rolling up the bedrolls. I stand there uncertainly.

“Packing?” I finally say.

“Yes. Leave the door open, if Merlin calls for help, I--” she stands up. “I should be closer, what if he needs help?” she starts towards the door, but I’m blocking it.

“Morgana, he’s fine,” I say. “He has magic.”

“They might, too!” She gestures. “What if it’s a sorcerer, after both of us? Maybe you should go to the cave--no, to Kilgarrah. I know he’s not ready, but--”

“Morgana. We’re fine. We’re not weak.”

She looks at me, eyes already red-rimmed with tears. There’s a deep fear in her eyes.

“I’ll keep lookout,” I say, “I have good hearing. You pack. Just in case.”

She takes deep breaths, nods, and turns away to continue her packing.

It’s not long before I hear Merlin call out.

“Aithusa! Morgana! It’s fine--it’s Gwaine!”

Morgana stumbles to the door. “What did he say?”

“It’s fine, it’s Gwaine?” I shrug. “What’s Gwaine?”

Her face goes stony. She starts rolling down her sleeves, straightening her dress and her hair. She takes off her apron, shakes it out, and hangs it just inside the door.

“Morgana?” I prompt, “What’s Gwaine?”

“He’s a knight of Camelot,” she says. “He’s--he’s a good man. A friend of Merlin’s.” She looks around the clearing, and her eyes glow as she magically straightens the woodpile, clears a few leaves, and summons the broom to her hand so she can give the front step two good swipes before she sets it aside and folds her arms. There’s a rustling in the underbrush. Horse and human steps. I sidestep so I’m partially hidden behind Morgana. She rests a comforting hand on my neck.

We can hear light-hearted talking before Merlin emerges from the trees, followed closely by a man I don’t know and two horses I also don’t know. The man is a little shorter and scruffier than Merlin, with darkish hair swept back from his face. He smiles when he sees me, but his eyes flicker to Morgana and the smile turns forced.

“Lady Morgana,” he says, “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

She nods. “Sir Gwaine. I understand you helped Merlin a great deal while he was preparing to release us. Thank you.”

His eyes turn unsure, but he gives a little bow.

“And this is Aithusa,” Merlin says, gesturing to me, “The White Dragon. Aithusa, this is Sir Gwaine, knight of Camelot.”

Gwaine’s smile returns. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

I step out from behind Morgana, and Gwaine stiffens a little. I bow. I'm not sure what to say, if anything. My heart is pounding. Is there special etiquette I should do, like when Morgana tells me not to get blood all over my face when I eat? I can feel tension in the air, and I have no idea how to dispel it.

No one else seems to know, either. Gwaine rubs his hands together and turns back to his horse. 

“Great. Merlin made a shopping list before he left, so I thought I’d bring it by and see if everyone was okay.”

“I  _ did  _ leave rather suddenly,” Merlin directs toward me and Morgana, as though we don’t know.

"Yes. Um…" he starts digging through the saddlebags, then seems to think better of it and just removes the whole bag and awkwardly hands it off to Merlin. Hands now free, he points to the wall that will one day be a cottage. "I see you're expanding."

"Yes!" Morgana seems relieved to have a topic of conversation. "Aithusa is growing fast, and of course he won't fit in a cottage forever, but it'll be more comfortable for me anyway while I'm here for the next few years." She's rubbing at one spot on my head over and over. I shift so she rubs a different spot.

"Years?" Gwaine raises his eyebrows and looks at Merlin. "Is that the plan?"

"We don't know what the plan is exactly," Merlin says, glancing at Morgana for reassurance. "For Morgana. But we were just talking the other night about me returning to Camelot."

Hope lights up Gwaine's face. "Soon?"

Merlin half-nods, half-shrugs.

"Well, good thing I brought two horses." Gwaine ends up directing his smile at me, and I smile back. "Let's unpack while we still have daylight, eh?"

The tension in the air eases as he unpacks and hands things off to Morgana or Merlin to be put away in the larder. This includes a stock of wheat as well as a small handmill (once Morgana shows me how it works I busy myself with it while they unpack the rest), a hoe and a rake, packets of seeds for several different vegetables, new changes of clothes for both Merlin and Morgana, a few different foods, and an herbal reference book.

"Couldn't get a formal dress made," I hear Gwaine mutter out of Morgana's earshot.

Morgana's eyes light up more with each new thing brought out, but I can tell she's holding her excitement back in front of Gwaine. 

"And that's the last of it," Gwaine finally says. He hands off a bundle to Merlin, who ducks into the hut. "Oh, except…" he hesitates, and then holds a small pouch out to Morgana. 

"From the Queen," he says.

She gives him a confused look, and then lets the contents spill into her white hand.

It's fine gold chain and green jewels; when Morgana sorts them out it's a set of earrings and a matching necklace. 

Her face crumples a bit, and she runs a light finger across the jewels. "Thank you," she says. Her voice cracks, and she clears her throat. "Please give my thanks to the--Gwen." Her hand curls around the jewelry, and she looks Gwaine in the eyes. "Sir Gwaine, there is…" she looks down at her clasped hands. "... Very little I can do now to apologize for what I've done. And I know what you're doing now is not for my sake. But," she looks up again. "I deeply regret what I did to you. And I consider myself in your debt."

Gwaine's face, jovial and relaxed up until now, has turned hard as he looks at her.

"I will remember that debt," he says, "the next time I am in need and you have the power to give." 

She nods, keeping eye contact for a long moment before abruptly turning away and walking around the edge of the house. I get to my feet, starting after her, but look back at Gwaine. He's closed his eyes, brows furrowed as though he's in pain. He takes in a sort of sobbing breath and turns to his horse to start re-adjusting the saddlebags.

"Me too," I say. 

Gwaine jumps a little, turning to me with unveiled surprise. "W-wha? You can talk?"

"Yes," I say, and sit down, folding my wings to look a little smaller. "Thank you for helped us."

He shuts his mouth and smiles nervously. "You're welcome."

Gwaine stays for a few days so that Merlin can linger and make  _ absolutely  _ sure that we can take care of ourselves. Morgana allows it, to my surprise. But she’s in a nervous state--Gwaine obviously doesn’t like her, despite her apology, and she keeps watching Merlin with a pained expression. She and I volunteer to camp outside while Gwaine stays over.

On one of the days Gwaine and Merlin disappear into the mountain. Once Morgana realizes this is the case, she grabs an extra sword that Gwaine brought and forbids me from following her as she goes after them. 

I’m left to pace at the entrance at the spot Morgana and Kilgarrah had saved me. It’s gray overhead, and the fresh spring leaves of the trees are turning, getting ready for a little rain. After a long time, they return. Merlin, using magic, is dragging an enormous creature. Its slick skin is covered in grime and dust. It has huge tentacles. The three humans look triumphant. They bury the corpse nearby--they’d taken it out so it wouldn’t foul up the water inside the cave.

“I noticed the lake had a bit of a flow,” Merlin mentions as we head back down the mountain. “And there were some fish, as well. I think it restocks itself--that’s what kept the monster alive. You should check back some time and see if you can fish. If you’re okay with going back in there.”

“Mmm. Sometime,” I agree. There will be much work if I want to make that a suitable place for me to live, not the least because I’d grown to like sleeping on a somewhat soft surface.

A week after he’d arrived, Merlin leaves. The morning had started out clear, but clouds are gathering again, and it’s chilly. Morgana and I walk the two men to the edge of the valley.

“We can write back and forth pretty easily,” Merlin is saying, leading his horse. “Although maybe send the paper-birds on clear nights.”

She gives a short laugh at that. “You can stop fussing, Merlin.”

He chuckles. “Sorry.” They come to a stop, and their eyes meet. “I’ll visit when I can,” he says.

Gwaine is watching them closely, although he's half turned away to feign giving them privacy. To be fair, I'm watching them too. They're silent, watching each other's faces. It's like listening to a conversation in a language I don't know--there a joke, there a sigh. But the conversation has to be brief, Gwaine's waiting. Merlin touches her cheek and swiftly leans in, leaving a quiet kiss on the side of her head, not quite to her cheek but not quite to her forehead.

I see Morgana's eyes widen, and her pale skin flush over pink. He doesn't linger. He shoots me a grin. “Goodbye, Aithusa. Be good.”

“Yes,” I say.

His eyes flicker to Morgana, then back away, quickly. "Stay safe," he says, stepping back. I think I see a blush on his face as well, but he turns away to climb onto his horse.

"You too," Morgana says a beat and a half after she should have. She looks like someone threw a pillow at her and she caught it without meaning to. Bewildered, briefly proud, then concerned. Merlin doesn't look back, but Gwaine does one more time, and Morgana ducks her head and walks away, nearly tripping on a root.

She's very quiet as she absentmindedly gathers firewood. Her eyebrows are knit together and her hands move stiltingly.

"What do you think it means?" I finally ask.

She freezes and looks up. "Hm?"

"He kissed your head."

"I'm sure it was nothing," she scrunched her nose in a grimacing smile. "Just a goodbye."

"He didn't kiss  _ my  _ head," I say slyly.

She touches her temple, then quickly withdraws her hand. "It doesn't matter, Thuse. We just… care about each other. And that's enough, for now."

Then we both hear it--the beating of huge wings in the sky. Kilgarrah is overhead, ready for me. I grin at Morgana, and she smiles back, jerking her chin to tell me to go.

I take off. The air is light and chilly, and I'm weightless. I'm free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Thank you for all your comments and your patience, as well. It's been fun to write a multi-chapter fic. 
> 
> There were lots of ways I thought about wrapping this up--maybe Morgana would return to Camelot, or she and Merlin would get together, but in the end I felt like Morgana's journey is kind of a long one and I didn't want it to feel disingenuous. Perhaps at some point I'll write a sequel? We'll see :) In the meantime I'll be writing other fics as well as original works.
> 
> Thanks again for sticking with me!


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